


Faraway Dawn

by BakaSmurf



Category: Fire Emblem: If | Fire Emblem: Fates, For Honor (Video Game)
Genre: Crossover, Crossovers & Fandom Fusions, Gen, Self-Insert
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-09-24
Updated: 2020-10-15
Packaged: 2021-03-07 18:41:50
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 16
Words: 50,696
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26632297
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BakaSmurf/pseuds/BakaSmurf
Summary: A terrible accident ends two young men's lives; in their wake, a new story unfolds as one awakens in a brutal, fantastical world of decadent courts, savage warfare, and calamitous magic.Gaia, Midgard, Chikyuu - all names used to describe this new world by those who inhabit it. The Imperial Legions of Nohr, dedicated to the majesty of the Empire; the Knightly Orders of Ashfeld, sworn to shield the frail behind plate and mail; the Savage Clans of Valkenheim, avowed to a glorious death worthy of Valhalla's halls; the Honour-bound Houses of Hoshido, torn between their lust for personal glory and their national unity in the face of extinction.Four factions fight for their ideals. Fighting for glory. Fighting for survival. Fighting for honour. Their fates made one.An unseen shadow hangs above all. Chaos, death, and unfettered destruction made manifest, seeding discontent and fury - driven by a singular will to see all annihilated. Amidst the chaos, the very face of war stands tall, dedicated towards one, absolute goal: to sow the seeds of a new age forged from the fires of war and the ashes of an old world of cowardice and impotence. A new age not of sheep, but an age of wolves.
Kudos: 5





	1. As All Stars Fall

“You almost had it that time, just keep it up, Kamui.” Leon asserted encouragingly, giving his sister a wide smile as he did so.  
  
“It feels like I’m not making any progress at all…” The Nohrian Princess pouted as she let her hand drop in apparent defeat, glaring at the simple wooden dummy she’d been targeting.  
  
Leon sighed at that, running a gloved hand through his well-kept blonde hair. “You can’t just give up because you’re getting frustrated. Everyone struggles with spellcasting at first.”  
  
“But Spark is just a cantrip!” The raven-haired princess protested with a huff, her side-tied ponytail swaying as she turned to face her brother. “ _Children_ use it as the basis for their Electrourgy technique! I’m an adult, it’s so embarrassing to be struggling with it!”  
  
Leon sighed, allowing his decorated shoulders to slump as he did so. “Children that are _just learning to spellcast,_ Kamui. Just as you are right now.”  
  
Kamui’s crimson eyes furrowed in protest. “But-”  
  
“Do you think I picked up Brynhildr and started manipulating earth, gravity, and life on day one of my magic training, sister?” The refined blonde asked, gesturing over the legendary violet magic tome decorated in black finery in his hand.  
  
Kamui was quiet for a few moments at that, staring at her elder brother, her expression unchanging.  
  
“Well…” She started.  
  
The blond suppressed a rather ungentlemanly groan at her response. “Magic takes just as long to master as any martial art does. Even Camilla has only recently managed to advance past the basics of Electricity-based war magic, and she places even more emphasis on her physical form than you do, Kamui.”  
  
The ravenette wished to protest, but Leon was speaking the truth. Their elder sister had herself only just advanced beyond beginner spellcasting, so to think that she herself should have been able to master it herself despite her general focus on swordsmanship...  
  
But still!  
  
“It’s still embarrassing…” the young princess pouted with a huff, glaring at the practice dummy that she could swear was mocking her inability to manage such an elementary spell.  
  
Leon simply stared at her for a few moments before redirecting his gaze out of the great window which gave a clear view of the neighbouring tower, upon which their brothers were practice sword fighting atop, silhouetted against the near perpetually overcast sky of the Empire of Nohr, as per usual. “I wonder if Corrin is giving Marx as much grief over their training session…” He pointedly wondered aloud.  
  
Kamui’s pout intensified, and the beginning inklings of tears began to form in the corners of her striking eyes at his apparent annoyance with her.  
  
“Oh, now don’t start with that,” Leon once more sighed, placing a free hand on his hip. “You know I am only teasing you, dear sister. Though I would also be lying were I to say that I haven’t been getting the impression that you’re deliberately making this difficult for me.”  
  
The pale-skinned girl held her pout and continued to stare forward at the training dummy on the other side of the room. “But I’m not…” she whined.  
  
“Sometimes I wonder-” Leon began, only to cut himself off as he glanced back out the window. “...Marx and Corrin are bringing their duel awfully close to the edge of the tower…” he observed with some trepidation.  
  
Kamui was immediately shaken from her small bout of pouting, sparing her brother a glance before shifting to focus on their siblings as he had.  
  
She watched for a moment and felt a pit begin to form in her stomach.  
  
“...Surely, Xander knows what he is doing, right?” She asked Leon unsurely.  
  
“You know he prefers to go by his middle name, Kamui,” Leon chastised, looking back down at her scoldingly.  
  
Her pout returned in full-force with a huff and a stomp of her bare foot on the finely carpeted floor. “No! He’s my big brother _Xander,_ not Marx, and always will be!”  
  
The taller of the pair rolled his eyes. “One of these days you’re going to have to grow up, dear sis-”  
  
Then, as he looked back upon Corrin and Marx, his eyes rapidly widened, pupils, constricted into pinpricks, and his breath caught in his throat with a choking gasp.  
  
In an instant, Kamui felt a pit rapidly form in her stomach, and shifted her own eyes back towards the tower above.  
  
Just in time to see Xander dive, and by the smallest of margins, fail to catch her brother’s hand as he careened over the edge and fell, straight for the courtyard hundreds of feet below.  
  
“CORRIN!” She screamed at the top of her lungs in pain and desperation, helpless to do anything but watch her brother fall.  
  
\---  
  
“Come on, quit being a bitch!” The pretty brunette called down at her friend, finding his incredible trepidation increasingly irritating.  
  
“Why the hell did I agree to this!?” Joe cried out as he clung to the cliff surface for dear life, his eyes wide and his limbs feeling like they were on fire. “You’re trying to fucking kill me, I know it!”  
  
Rose rolled her eyes, shaking her head as she gazed down at the big scaredy cat, the ground hundreds of feet beneath them being almost picturesque from such a great height. “So a bear, you can handle, but a little climbing is too much for the big strong Canuck?”  
  
“THIS IS TOTALLY DIFFERENT, SHUT UP,” he cried back, not feeling at all secure despite the harness and rope his friend assured him were more than enough to hold his weight. “OH GOD, WHY DID I AGREE TO THIS!?”  
  
The red-eyed girl shook her head and shifted her gaze out and over the picturesque mountainous North American countryside around them. “Come on, you’re the one that wanted to sightsee… and isn’t this absolutely beautiful? Blue skies, white clouds, brilliant greens, singing birds… so quit being such a bitch about a little rock climbing!”  
  
Joe tried to catch his breath, doing his damnedest to not fall into a complete panic or look down. Or out. Sweet baby Jesus agreeing to this shit was a mistake. Yes, Raph was a skilled rock climber and set everything up for them on his way up, but holy fucking shit, mankind was not meant to scale sheer cliffs for _fun!_  
  
“What in God’s name is it with you fucking white people and doing insane fucking shit like climbing mountains and jumping out of perfectly functioning planes just because you can!?” Joe demanded as he found the will to try inching further up the rope. “You never hear about ethnic dudes falling to their fucking deaths doing stupidly dangerous shit for no good reason! At least until today at this rate!”  
  
“Are you gonna keep crying, or are you gonna start climbing again any time soon?” Rose asked through lidded eyes down at her whiny companion.  
  
“I-!” He started, moving to reach up and take a hold of a rock which stuck out further than the rest.  
  
It broke free from the wall as he was hoisting himself up, and for a moment, terror filled his eyes as it felt like he was in freefall.  
  
Then, the carabiner keeping him attached to the rope broke, and he _was_ free falling.  
  
Everything seemed to slow down for an instant, as he stared up at Rose’s face, which contorted from a calm, almost annoyed expression to one of pure, unfiltered horror. Her crimson eyes widening and her mouth gaping wide as she let out a single, heart-rending scream.  
  
He didn’t scream. He didn’t shout. He barely even grunted. As the rock face careened past him, as Rose’s face faded into the distance, he made not a single sound.  
  
Wind whipping up against his back, Rose reaching down, his vision seeming to tunnel…  
  
This couldn’t be real, this wasn’t happening, was it?  
  
This wasn’t how it was going to end, this isn’t what it was all building up to, was it?  
  
It couldn’t have been real.  
  
This wouldn’t happen to him.  
  
But, for an instant, it clicked.  
  
He was falling.  
  
And finally, for but a bare moment, he heard his best friend’s voice crying out to him in horrified desperation.  
  
 ** _“JOE!”_**  
  
He screamed.  
  
It only hurt for the briefest fraction of a second.  
  
\---  
  
Kamui stared.  
  
She kneeled and stared.  
  
Camilla was holding him. Resting his head upon her lap, just as she always had, gently stroking his long, dark hair. Staring.  
  
But absent was the quiet, soothing hum she’d always sung to them both when they were young, to coo them to sleep as their elder sister cradled them lovingly as if they were her own children.  
  
Long, periwinkle hair cascaded down around her shoulders. Her expression was empty, her eyes hollow as she so gently cradled Corrin’s body, handled him as if she could somehow break him further.  
  
Leon remained on his feet, staring, expression caught between shock and disbelief. He said nothing, did nothing. Moved not an inch as he stared upon the horrible sight.  
  
Xander was on his knees, staring at his hands, tears flowing freely from his normally hard, steely, unbreakably strong eyes. Lips quivering, long golden locks matted with sweat from charging down the tower stairs as quickly as he could.  
  
Everything was an indistinct haze. Kamui wasn’t sure if she herself was crying.  
  
She knew for certain that Elise was.  
  
The youngest of the siblings, their adorable little sister, so small of stature, so pure of heart, her platinum blonde hair tied into a pair of eye-catching youthful twintails, was screaming, wailing in dismay as she attempted desperately to heal her big brother. Clutching her staff and gesturing with it wildly, the healing magic cascading from the glowing orb set atop, but to no avail.  
  
The only thing she was managing to do was stitch the broken body back together, close wounds, set shattered bones back in place as she pushed herself to the absolute limit out of sheer desperation.  
  
But the dead could not be raised, no matter how hard one tried.  
  
There was no light in his eyes which stared up at the drab, cloudy Nohrian sky above, past Camilla’s own gaze, into nothing at all.  
  
Corrin was gone.  
  
There was nothing they could do.  
  
The Legionaries that had protected them for so long, their Legionaries that had stood tall on the walls of the Fortress, could not protect him from this, no matter how sharp their swords, how unbreakable their shields.  
  
They hung their heads, their eyes downcast, even they shared in the pain of the broken family.  
  
Gunter… Gunter hid behind the metallic plating of his helmet. His expression was hidden, but… she knew that he bore this burden of pain as well. Seeing his student cast down by such a cruel tragedy. The older, former Lawbringer, stern as he was, cared for his ward, and he mourned in his own way. Holding his mighty halberd at attention in honour of what was lost.  
  
Felicia and Flora, his two personal bodyguards, trained in the ways of the Peacekeepers and disguised as simple maids, were quiet. Flora kept her composure with more grace than Felicia, who was inelegantly blubbering at the sight of her ward’s lifeless body, attempting to stand tall, yet wavering in her place.  
  
Feeling her body begin to shake uncontrollably, Kamui felt her body tighten, her muscles contracting seemingly of their own will as she began to curl in on herself, helplessly.  
  
And finally, she let out a long, agonized, tormented wail, screaming, crying, tears flowing, nose running, mouth overflowing. She couldn’t control herself, she could do nothing but clutch her own shoulders, wail hysterically, uselessly.  
  
He promised to always be there. He promised that one day, they’d earn their freedom from the Northern Fortress. One day, Xander, Camilla, Leon, and Elise would be able to take them when they left, bring them to Castle Krakenburg, to their home. Where they’d finally be all together as a family. With their siblings. With Father. Their place at the Emperor's side finally earned, as they so desperately desired.  
  
So many places he wished to see. So many lands he wished to walk. The walled, bustling streets of the Imperial Capital of Windmire, so proudly watched over by the unyielding Centurions and their Legionaries. The lush, verdant forests of Ashfeld, home to the knightly orders that fought to protect the innocent and weak of Nohr from the barbaric northern invaders. The Obsidian Round Table of Mt. Rust, where the mighty Blackstone Legion was formed. The fertile, evergreen fields of Hoshido, the dominion of the proud and noble samurai, overflowing with the cherry blossoms the Dawn Empire was said to be richly blessed with, gently raining petals of soothing pink all around the nation...  
  
But now he was gone.  
  
Corrin would never get to see their home.  
  
Corrin would never meet father.  
  
They would never whole.  
  
She would never be whole.  
  
Kamui screamed, she cried, she wailed, as in that moment, it became so very clear to her.  
  
A piece of her had died that day. A piece of her she would never get back.  
  
She had not even been afforded the chance to say goodbye.  
  
To truly express just how much he had meant to her.  
  
And now, she never would.  
  
 _“Please,”_ she pleaded, desperately, to the Dusk Dragon, the Dawn Dragon, whoever would listen, whoever would hear her pitiful, hopeless plea. “ _Please,”_ she begged. She hoped.  
  
She prayed.  
  
 _“Give me my brother back.”_  
  
\---  
  
It had hurt for but a fraction of an instant.  
  
Then, there was blackness.  
  
Silence.  
  
Musky, thick, cold air.  
  
It hurt.  
  
Everything hurt.  
  
His breath came in shuddering gasps, his eyes desperately rotating in their sockets for some source of light, for anything at all.  
  
Where was he? Why was he there? What had happened-  
  
Then he remembered. The last thing he had seen. The last thing he had heard.  
  
Rose’s face, contorted in agony and horror, calling out to him, reaching out helplessly.  
  
Watching, as he _fell_.  
  
Panic overtook him. His breath fell out of control, and unthinking, he tried to roll over to gain a proper footing.  
  
Once again, he fell.  
  
There was a terrible crash and a yelp of terror and pain. It had hurt before, now it was intensified.  
  
It hurt, he was afraid, he was blind… _why was it so dark? Why was it so cold?_  
  
Where-  
  
There was a loud, jostling creak, and suddenly, light.  
  
Joe turned his head, his eyes straining against the sudden brightness, the rush of warm air, the sensation of sight returning to him.  
  
His eyes adjusted, and there stood…  
  
[Two… Roman… Legionaries…?](https://cdn.discordapp.com/attachments/375542541363445760/746153116163899432/baetica.jpg)  
  
They were staring at him. Mouths agape. Eyes as wide as saucers beneath their impassive, statuesque metal masks, hands on the short swords on their hips, standing in what was a doorway leading to a stone brick hall.  
  
He didn’t know what to say, what to do, what to think.  
  
Neither, it seemed, did they.  
  
He stared up at them from the ground, feeling his hair falling around his face as he gasped for air, confused, lost.  
  
Then, the pain intensified again. He cried out in agony, rolling into a ball on the ground. It hurt, _everything_ hurt.  
  
...Of course it hurt.  
  
Why wouldn’t it hurt?  
  
 _He fell._  
  
“By the grace of the Dusk Dragon…!” One of the Legionaries uttered, taking a step back, staring at the mess of a man splayed out on the cold cobblestone floor. He spoke not in English, but… _Latin_. Yet, Joe understood it, plainly, as though it were his mother tongue.  
  
“Q-quickly!” The other Legionary shouted with great urgency as he produced a lantern, stepping towards Joe. “Get the Princes and Princesses! Tell them that Prince Corrin is-!”  
  
He stopped for a few moments, then shook his head.  
  
“Bring healers! Move!” The soldier commanded the other as he rushed into the cold, dark room, illuminating it with his lantern.  
  
“Mi’lord… Young prince! Can you hear me?” He asked even as footsteps faded into the distance at a rapid pace. “Are you okay?”  
  
Too much. It was too much. He didn’t understand what was going on. He didn’t know where he was. He was cold, lost, and terrified.  
  
It was all he could do to let out a long, pained cry as he clutched his sides, desperately hoping for the torture to just _stop_.  
  
“...The Dusk Dragon,” the Legionary started as he took a knee and looked over the suffering figure, his voice filled with utter awe. “The Dusk Dragon, he heard it… he heard the princess’s plea, her prayer...”  
  
He set down the lantern and reached for a satchel hanging at his side.  
  
“Here, your grace,” the Roman said, withdrawing from it a vial stopped shut with a cork which he pulled free immediately. “This vulnerary will stifle the pain, and make it easier for the healers to do their duties, drink it.”  
  
Lowering the vial to Joe’s lips, the soldier held it there.  
  
So desperate was he for the hurt to stop, he didn’t think twice about drinking the bitter concoction.  
  
Moments passed as the Roman uttered assurances, and as the pain did indeed begin to fade, the young man felt his consciousness slip away with it. He embraced it, for whatever this was, it was all far too much to bear yet.  
  
And so, as he heard approaching rapid footfalls and screams, desperate screams of “Brother!” “Corrin!” and “Little Prince,” Joe allowed darkness to overtake him.


	2. Dim Moonlight

Joe’s eye flitted. He was warm, it was soft. Comfy. Pleasant.  
  
...A moment passed, and he kept his eyes shut, allowing himself to just breathe, and remain still.  
  
He was back home.  
  
He was in his bed.  
  
That all… that had been nothing but a terrible dream.  
  
A terrible, awful, unfunny dream. Yes. That fucking rock-climbing trip with Raph and Rose… fuck that, that was cancelled for sure. No way in hell was he going to be lashing himself to the sides of no mountains after that. They’d understand, surely-  
  
“...Mi’lord?” A soft, gentle voice piped up from his side. “Are you awake-?”  
  
Joe’s eyes nearly popped out of their sockets as he spun to face the voice, and saw a beautiful woman with pale turquoise hair adorned with a maid’s headdress leaning over him, soft grey eyes boring into him as he lay there.  
  
She stood tall in a stone room bearing distinctly medieval architecture and furnishings.  
  
This-  
  
 _This wasn't his home._  
  
Panic began to rise in his chest as his heart started pounding uncontrollably-  
  
“Corrin-!” Another voice, girly, high-pitched and wavering came from the side. “I-I mean, mi’lord!” The girl corrected herself when the turquoise-haired one shot a glare her way.  
  
Blonde- _pinkish_ blonde hair tied up in a ponytail, dressed in the same way as the other maid, but with large, soft, ice blue eyes which were red and swollen. She had all but jumped onto the bed as she gazed down at him, pain clear and present in her features, as was, oddly, hope.  
  
Joe laid there.  
  
He didn’t know what to think.  
  
Moments passed, and eventually, he moved to try standing up.  
  
Only to have the act cut off by a terrible pain lancing throughout his back, causing him to yelp and hiss in pain, teeth clenched together and eyes locked shut.  
  
“C- mi’lord!” The pinkish-blonde repeated, reaching down and taking a hold of his shoulders, which were themselves suddenly starting to feel as though they were on fire.  
  
His entire body was starting to hurt again. Why, dear god, why did it hurt so much?  
  
“Hold him still, Felicia,” the turquoise-haired maid commanded the other. “He can’t be left awake if he’s going to hurt himself trying to move before he’s fully healed from that fall.”  
  
Fall-  
  
Yes. That’s why it hurt.  
  
 _He fell_.  
  
Panic started to rise in his chest again, and he tried to fight against Felicia, the girl holding him down.  
  
“F-Flora!” Felicia cried out almost desperately, her voice cracking and fluctuating.  
  
“Shhh, mi’lord,” Flora said in a soft, soothing voice as a glow shone through his eyelids as if a lantern was being held in front of his face.  
  
He opened his eyes to see… a glowing orb atop a staff held in the turquoise-haired maid, Flora’s, hands.  
  
“Rest, for now, it’s okay to be a slugabed, just this once. You’ve earned it,” she cooed, slowly making small, circular motions with the staff held over him. “Just-”  
  
His vision began to darken, the strength left his body, and his eyelids grew heavy.  
  
 _“-Elsleep.”_  
  
\---  
  
Once again, his eyes fluttered open.  
  
Once again, Joe felt his heart skip a beat. Not because he was suddenly addressed by some woman he didn’t recognize, but because of the unmistakable pressure, the presence of a person curled up next to him.  
  
He was in the same bed he’d been in previously, though the room was now darkened, the curtains drawn on the windows that seemed to be letting in little more than moonlight.  
  
He could hear them lightly breathing, fidgeting every so often and letting out a small sound, like a grumble, or the smallest of whimpers.  
  
Then, he noticed the other rhythmic breath coming from off to the side, approximately from where that woman, Flora, had previously been standing.  
  
...A few moments gave the impression that the two individuals were likely sleeping. The maids? That would seem reasonable-  
  
Glancing down, he quickly determined that the tiny, platinum blonde girl with the large twintails tied with black ribbons, garbed in a dark dress with pink accents, wasn’t the same pinkish-blonde maid from earlier, Felicia.  
  
Though, mercifully, she was indeed sleeping, albeit fretfully, curled up right against him as she was. She looked to be a young teenager based on her size and youthful features, though Joe could determine little other than that in the dim light of the room.  
  
He turned aside and found in Flora’s place sleeping in a fine armchair, a stunningly gorgeous grown woman. Tall, elegant with long, luxurious periwinkle hair, dressed in deep black purple-accented finery that showed off her shapely form, though bared little skin. Joe almost wanted to describe her attire as ‘knightly,’ well-made and unquestionably high-class, though seemingly designed with practicality in mind.  
  
He blinked when his eyes adjusted to the dark a little more, and he swore that he could make out a small pair of _horns_ jutting out of the sides of her head.  
  
Like… some kind of demon.  
  
…Again, even this, was too damned much.  
  
He only had to consider it for a few moments, but quickly deduced that, as the tiny blonde girl wasn’t actually holding onto him, and with the way the armchair was positioned next to the bed… he should be able to worm his way out of the situation, stand up, and make his way for an exit.  
  
To where, he didn’t know, but… he didn’t know what else to do.  
  
He started to shift, slowly, the sound of fabric rustling breaking the overbearing silence-  
  
“Please remain still,” a masculine, but quiet voice cut through the darkness from across the room.  
  
Joe’s eyes snapped to the origin and found sitting exactly opposite his bed, a young blond man dressed in clothes as fine as either of the girls on his side, rich brown eyes staring at him.  
  
“I understand that you have been through much, Corrin,” the blond continued, standing from his shadowed seat. “And that you may be confused, but Camilla and Elise haven’t slept at all in the thirty hours that have passed since you last awoke before you’d been fully healed. Please, allow them this reprieve from their vigil over you.”  
  
Joe stared, eyes wide, with equal parts surprise and confusion.  
  
Eventually, the Canadian blinked and replied. “...Who are you…?” He asked, with forced calm. “Where am I?”  
  
The short, well-kempt blonde went quiet, staring. Then his eyes widened, and his expression went downcast. “...I am Leonardo Woods de Nohr, youngest prince of the Dusk Empire of Nohr… your younger sibling.” He sighed quietly. “You were the subject of a terrible accident which nearly claimed your life, and it took our healers many days to completely repair the damage done to your body.”  
  
Leonardo took a deep breath, his shoulders rising and falling in an exaggerated motion.  
  
“If you do not recognize me… clearly, you have suffered severe memory loss as a consequence of your fall. I must inform the healers and our other siblings of this development. Please, remain in bed and rest. I assure you that things will be made clearer in time, but now… I will return, dear brother. Until then, _please_ , let our sisters sleep.”  
  
At that, Leonardo moved for the door, quickly, though silently, opened it and departed. Joe was left alone with the two slumbering girls on either side of him… his ‘sisters,’ according to the man that just claimed to be royalty and his _younger brother._  
  
What the fuck.  
  
 _What the fuck._  
  
 ** _What the fuck!?_**  
  
\---  
  
The healers left, shuffling off and already discussing the probable cause of the prince’s memory loss and what they might be able to do to correct it. Though it was all little more than theorizing and postulating. Such loss of memory wasn’t unheard of, but a reliable means to undo such damage _was_ very much unheard of.  
  
Quickly enough, Kamui, Leon, and Marx were left alone.  
  
“That…” Kamui started, staring at Leon as her mouth hung open, huddled over in her seat, her nightclothes loosely draped over her frame. “No… that can’t be, that can’t be true…!”  
  
A fire burned in the gilded hearth of the parlour, casting a warm glow about the otherwise darkened, richly decorated and furnished room.  
  
It was seeming more and more like the only source of warmth in the entirety of the Northern Fortress after recent events.  
  
“He did not recognize me, sister,” Leon reiterated gravely. “Nor Elise, or Camilla. The look on his face, it was as if he was setting eyes on strangers. A new, unfamiliar location for the first time despite being in his own bedroom.”  
  
The dark-haired girl’s brows furrowed in mounting despair, her eyes shining with tears. “No… no, that’s… that’s too cruel, that’s not fair, that can’t be true!”  
  
Xander was standing off to the side, looking as though he hadn’t slept a solitary minute since Corrin’s fall with deep bags under his eyes. His sallow face was framed by unkempt golden hair, and he was wearing the very same now dishevelled clothes he had been garbed in at the start of all this.  
  
The elder prince sighed and interjected. “...This must be the price of the Dusk Dragon’s miracle. Death is not something so easily undone. Even the gods must have their limits…”  
  
His typically proud, noble bearing was gone. In its place, was pain and self-loathing.  
  
“All because I had to push him, push him beyond his limits. Push him beyond reason…”  
  
Kamui, despite her own state, rapidly rose from her seat, marched over to her elder brother’s side, and wrapped her arms around his waist tightly. Hugging him almost desperately. “D-don’t,” she pleaded. “Please don’t, Xander. Please don’t hate yourself. You didn’t know, you didn’t mean to-”  
  
“Intentions mean precious little, when the cost of my terrible mistake is so horribly high, little princess…” Xander, so tall, so proud, so mighty, the pride of Nohr… so utterly, completely dejected, arms hanging limply at his sides despite his little sister embracing him.  
  
Xander was always so strong. No matter what, no matter how hard things got, Kamui could always count on Xander to know what to do. To be unshakeable, indomitable. To see him so… _broken_ …  
  
The girl began to quietly sob, burying her face in his chest, wishing that all of it would just stop. For this nightmare to come to an end. They lost Corrin, so suddenly, so terribly, only for a miracle to happen. For the gods to hear her plea, and answer it. Returning her brother to them, but… with his memories of them, just _gone_?  
  
Could he truly be considered to have survived after all, if they were all like strangers to him now? When he looked at them, when he set eyes on her, as if for the first time, would she see her precious big brother reflected within at all?  
  
Had the gods truly shown them pity, or was this some cruel joke? Or even a punishment for some offence they hadn’t realized they’d committed?  
  
Why… why _him?_ Why Corrin, why gentle, caring, compassionate Corrin, who was always so quick to lend an ear, so fast to offer a hand, so happy to provide the smallest of courtesies to his servants? What could _he_ have possibly have done to offend the gods, to draw their ire?  
  
“Is…” Kamui started between choking sobs. “Is it even really him, if he doesn’t remember any-”  
  
“Corrin is our brother,” Leon cut her off, surprisingly harshly. “If he does not remember us, then we will simply make new memories with him. We will remind him of how important he is to us, that he is family, and that we will always be there for him. It is as simple as that,” he declared with a steely determination.  
  
Leon… he too, though he could be harsh, truly did care for his family, loved and supported them, in his own way. Of course, he wouldn’t allow a single thing to draw a wedge between him and one of his siblings. He wouldn’t allow it. That was just the kind of person he was.  
  
That was the kind of strength they all needed to have now. If their brother had truly forgotten them…  
  
“You’re right,” Kamui nodded, disengaging from Xander. “You’re right… we will be there for Corrin, just as he’s always been there for us.”  
  
Leon nodded approvingly at his sister.  
  
Xander… continued to look for all the world like he was absolutely inconsolable. Given how all of this had happened in the first place, she had to admit, that she understood why. But, still…  
  
She wished she knew what to say to him. How to ease the burden on his heart, but alas.  
  
“Elise and Camilla were still sleeping when I left,” Leon noted matter-of-factly. “I believe it would be best to afford them some time to rest, so… I will return to Corrin’s room, alone, for now. If he is still awake himself, I will tell him all that I can. Once our sisters have arisen from their slumber, we shall all gather and…”  
  
He paused, visibly seeming to be unsure about what to say next.  
  
“Sort this all out,” the blond eventually seemed to manage. “For now, Kamui, Marx… it may be best if you two try to sleep as well.”  
  
Kamui wished to protest, though, she could not deny that she was herself quite drained, having slept very poorly and sparsely since everything started happening. Xander by all appearances hadn’t slept at all in the first place. “I agree with Leon, Xander. We should both go to bed, or at least try to.”  
  
The elder prince grimaced, then let out a sigh. “...Very well. Leon, I leave it in your hands,” he said to the youngest of the Nohrian princes, turning aside towards the quietly crackling fireplace.  
  
“Your trust is not misplaced, brother,” Leon responded with a stiff nod. “Try to sleep well, you two.”  
  
With that, he departed again, about-facing and marching down the hallway, not seeming to be particularly impeded by the low light afforded by the darkness of night.  
  
Kamui spared Xander an aside glance, and let out a breath as he just stared into the fireplace wordlessly. “...Please sleep well, brother.”  
  
And with that, her bare feet carried her out from the room, muffled by the noble violet carpets and then softly padding against the cool, black marble tiling of the hallway floors. She could do little for him, loathe as she was to admit it, and Leon had a point.  
  
She would sleep as well as she could, and when morning came…  
  
She supposed that she would introduce herself to her beloved twin brother.  
  
It took all of her willpower to not vomit on the spot.


	3. Dignified Veneer

“Oh no,” Camilla Rose de Nohr breathed, slowly turning aside to gaze upon her brother. “Oh, my sweet little Corrin…” She quickly rose from her chair, seated herself on the bed next to him, and pulled his head into a rather maternal rest atop her bosom. “My dear sweet Corrin…”  
  
Joe’s expression was trapped in one of perpetual deer-in-headlights, all of this was still way too damned much to handle, and these people, these… _strangers_ kept showering him with melancholic affection. The tallest of the women present now coddling him in a downright motherly manner.  
  
“B-b-b-big brother…” Elise Lily de Nohr sobbed into his chest, her arms firmly locked around his waist as her tears wetted his fine, but primitive laced shirt. The tiny blonde clinging on as if for dear life, hiccuping, stammering incoherently, and generally doing little other than repeating those same two words over and over.  
  
The other gathered three, Leon, who he recognized from when he woke up earlier, a taller, sterner blond named ‘Xander’ or ‘Marx’ that looked to be in a right proper state wearing an obsidian black circlet and purple finery… and, curiously, a girl that looked to be at least partially Asian, Japanese, Joe guessed, who had bright red irises like Rose-  
  
He froze up, then pushed those thoughts aside.  
  
Red irises, jet black hair tied in a girlish side-tail, and… _pointed elf ears_.  
  
Curiously though, she was wearing a white dress with black accents, in stark contrast to the black with violet accented attire of the other four. While she was clearly of another ethnicity entirely, she was being treated no differently from the others.  
  
Then, Leon referred to her as ‘sister.’  
  
Her gaze had been the most quietly melancholic of all, staring at him, looking away quickly and with visible pain any time his gaze drifted her way.  
  
He’d gathered that her name was Kamui, which only further clashed with the otherwise extremely European names of the other distinctly Caucasian siblings.  
  
And Joe himself… or, should he say, according to them, Jophiel Corrin de Nohr, prince of the Dusk Empire of Nohr.  
  
He… it seemed, he’d fallen, and upon waking, did so in the body of another man. Another man… in another world.  
  
He’d been fucking isekai’d.  
  
The thought made his stomach lurch.  
  
“Corrin-” Leon started.  
  
“Joe-” The former Canadian started, only just catching himself. “-phiel. Please, call me Jophiel…”  
  
It wasn’t his name, his birth name, the name his mother had bestowed upon him… but it was a damn sight closer to it than ‘Corrin’ was.  
  
Marx, or Xander, along with Leon and Kamui, all shared an uneasy look. Jophiel, as was apparently his name now, didn’t know why, though Leon seemed to recover first.  
  
“Jophiel-” the younger blond started, only to once again be cut off, this time by Kamui’s throat suddenly hitching, followed by the young woman beating a hasty retreat, looking to be on the verge of a breakdown.  
  
Marx and Leon shared a look, glanced between Jophiel, Elise, and Camilla, and seemed to decide that the two sisters that looked hardly alike at all seemed to have the situation in hand before departing after the random Japanese girl.  
  
Camilla kept cooing quiet, gentle reassurances with a pitch-perfect calm maturity to her, while Elise continued to cling onto Jophiel and just ugly cry into his chest.  
  
Between the two of their extreme behaviours, and the fact that Jophiel was stuck between the two openly emotionally devastated girls that were _complete strangers_ to him, while also being the target of their emotional distress… he was clearly overwhelmed himself and could do little other than just remain quiet, wishing for it all to end already.  
  
\---  
  
“-Marx,” Leon interjected as the elder prince awkwardly attempted to comfort Kamui by gently rubbing her back in the hallway, his heart not seeming to be in it though. “If Corrin- or, I suppose _Jophiel_ cannot remember anything... if his memories have truly been wiped clean entirely…”  
  
Kamui and Marx both cringed when Leon used the given name their sibling never did before that day. Felicia, who was also present off to the side with Gunter and Kamui’s personal butler Jakob, winced as well. Both remaining quiet (Felicia’s occasional dejected sniffling aside) until their lords had need of them.  
  
Leon continued. “Father made it abundantly clear that he expects both Jophiel and Kamui to be able to contribute to the empire’s military efforts very soon, and that he will tolerate no more ‘excuses’ for either of them anymore. If he has also forgotten his training...”  
  
Marx’s face went from sullen to grim immediately, taking a deep breath. “...Yes, father did say as much.”  
  
Kamui, choking back a sob, interjected. “B-but Corrin can’t- it’s not his fault, he-”  
  
“Father will not care,” Leon scolded her, causing the girl to flinch away. “You know that his definition of what constitutes as an ‘excuse’ is remarkably wide, sister.”  
  
Kamui quietly, almost gingerly, reached over her shoulder and touched her back, probing at the edges of a multitude of wicked scars. A pained expression finding purchase on her delicate features as she did so.  
  
“Considering that…” Leon shifted his gaze to Marx, pointedly ignoring the gesture his sister had made. “If they are both not able to join us on the field within mere days, Father will most certainly make good on his promise to simply lock them both here in the Northern Fortress for the rest of their lives. That would be-”  
  
“Unacceptable,” Marx declared with more gravitas than had been presented since Jophiel’s fall had happened. “Sir Gunter, Felicia,” he called the two servants who stood vigil on the opposite side of the wall.  
  
Both stepped forth, though Felicia a moment behind Gunter, having jumped at being called.  
  
“Yes, mi’lord?” The massive elderly man asked, his halberd held at rest, yet ever-present as was to be expected of a Lawbringer’s iconic arm even if their distinctive armour was not.  
  
“Cor- _Jophiel’s_ wounds have been entirely healed,” Marx continued sternly. “So you both will test him as soon as is possible. We must know if he can still fight.”  
  
Gunter nodded once firmly in affirmation.  
  
Meanwhile, Felicia looked more uncertain. The blonde spoke up with a quivering voice. “...And, if Cor- _Jophiel_ doesn’t remember how to fight, mi’lord?”  
  
Marx’s expression became unreadable for a moment before he nodded minutely to himself. “Then, when we deploy on the field of battle, you two shall do all you can to ensure he survives the encounter despite his handicap.”  
  
Felicia’s eyes widened, Kamui looked aghast, and Jakob seemed to have trouble parsing the command.  
  
“...I-” the white-haired butler began from his position. “With all due respect, mi’lord, that… does not seem especially honourable,” Jakob warily noted.  
  
“I am not asking that either of them stab fleeing warriors in the back or bring harm upon a civilian, Jakob,” Marx cooly replied. “I am merely telling them to do their job: protect Prince Cor- _Jophiel_.”  
  
Jakob looked uncertain but nodded once in response. “Of course, forgive me.” At that, he returned to remaining silent.  
  
Though, Felicia seemed reticent about something herself. “...Mi’lord, may I have permission to speak?” She asked.  
  
Marx gave her an affirmative nod.  
  
“Would it not be best for yourself to continue training prince Cor- _Jophiel_?” The blonde inquired with some confusion.  
  
There was a long, _tense_ silence after her question.  
  
It dragged on for an uncomfortable period of time before Marx finally responded.  
  
“No,” he bitterly replied, his voice quiet and incredibly strained. “It would not.”  
  
At that, he began to march off with no further aplomb.  
  
Felicia’s countenance took on a rather guilty character, and she could not help but shy away from Kamui’s saddened, though not judgemental gaze.  
  
Gunter just shook his head after giving the significantly smaller woman an aside glance, and Leon sighed.  
  
“Both of you have your orders,” the well-kempt blond prince noted to the Lawbringer and Peacekeeper-trained bodyguard. “And Felicia, you may as well consider yourself Jophiel’s primary sword arts trainer for now. It is clear that Marx has no intention of continuing to do so himself.”  
  
“...Understood, mi’lord,” Felicia quietly acknowledged her superior, barely suppressing an uncomfortable grimace as she did so.  
  
“Come, little Peacekeeper,” Gunter said as he started off, the butt cap of his polearm resounding out around the room as it loudly clanked against the stone masonry flooring, blatantly announcing the great figure’s presence from multiple rooms away. “Our Lord is not going to better himself for conflict by continuing to be coddled by his sisters in bed.”  
  
“I- y-yes Gunter,” Felicia quickly hopped along to follow him, only pausing to turn and respectfully bow to Leon and Kamui before continuing to fall in behind the mighty warrior, despite her clear and obvious displeasure with something making it plain on her face.  
  
Soon enough, it was just Leon, Kamui, and Jakob present a few hallway’s lengths down from Jophiel’s room.  
  
“I will speak to Marx about everything going on,” Leon noted to Kamui. “I would advise that you rest, and redouble your swordsmanship practice, sister. Flora and Jakob are not the terrible force on the battlefield which Sir Gunter and Felicia are. You will have to pull your own weight when the time comes to prove yourselves to Father.”  
  
He sighed.  
  
“Otherwise… be well for the rest of the day, Kamui.”  
  
At that, Leon went, leaving Kamui and Jakob alone.  
  
“...I think that training can wait at least another hour, my lady,” Jakob stated with a smile directed towards his liege. “Please, head to the parlour, I will prepare some tea and you can vent some grievances to me before we dive back into exercise.”  
  
The white-clad princess, who had been staring after Leon’s departure, shifted her gaze to the handsome butler and gave him a wry grin. “You’ve always been a rather smooth talker, Jakob.”  
  
“I aim to please, milady,” Jakob proudly replied as he started making his way for the kitchen with a confident spring in his step.  
  
\---  
  
After his 'siblings' had been made to leave so he could 'ready' himself for trials to come, Jophiel stared. Quietly, and with muted horror at the face gazing back at him from the full-body mirror in ‘his’ room.  
  
On the one hand, the… geometry, he supposed, was _similar_ to his own. From any angle, the nose, eyes, cheeks, jawline, brow… all looked familiar enough, as far as he could recall. Even the beauty mark under his right eye was present and accounted for.  
  
His dark brown hair was noticeably straighter than he remembered it being, but was otherwise at least long, as he preferred it, though his beard now lacked the auburn strands that he was used to finding poking out past the growth of deep browns.  
  
And that… was the extent of the familiarities of the body he found himself in.  
  
His physique couldn’t be described as anything less than ‘heroic.’ Not even the slightest trace of flab or softness could be found anywhere. Pure goddamned muscle, a _warrior’s_ muscle, he noted, not the overly bulky appearance of modern bodybuilders that worked out to merely _look_ impressive rather than to assert functional strength. Combined with a frame that could only be described as ‘burly’ in his past life…  
  
Jophiel had not been some pile of jiggly mush before waking in this place, but he sure as hell hadn’t looked as though he could wrestle a moose to the ground either.  
  
Moreover, the scars that littered his form painted an… unsettling picture of a man who fought and fought often.  
  
The _considerable_ focus of scars on his back compared to those peppered all over the rest of his body, in particular, drilled a pit in his stomach and brought to mind rather pointed questions of _why_ he would have so many scars converging on that specific part of his form.  
  
Though… he pushed such thoughts aside and tried to focus on more immediately pressing concerns.  
  
Otherwise, the colour of his skin was a cool, pale white. So unlike the warm tone of the light olive complexion he’d inherited from his Greek father and Native American mother. A borderline deathly pallor which reminded him of a corpse-  
  
He god damn near retched on the spot, and only just managed to refocus his attention off of his _situation_.  
  
Gazing back up at the mirror… once again, his own eyes caught his attention - his inhumanly bright crimson eyes which looked so much like Kamui’s and bitterly reminded him of Rose… and his pointed ears did little to assuage concerns of his uncomfortably _fae_ appearance.  
  
Camilla… that woman’s hair was periwinkle, a tone he knew for a fact did not naturally occur in humans, though what he had misidentified as little demon horns turned out to be decorative- a part of her circlet- and that was the only thing which made it obvious that she was not of the world Jophiel had previously been familiar with.  
  
The others were just… normal. Caucasian, blond and fair-skinned. There was nothing outwardly curious about their looks.  
  
Kamui, on the other hand… her ears were even longer than his. To the point that while his ears were almost Vulcan in appearance, her’s were unquestionably cartoonishly Elven in looks. Combined with her similarly ghostly pallor and damn near radiantly red eyes…  
  
...She, at least, looked like she could have been his- _this body’s_ biological sister. The rest though…  
  
Just what the hell had he woken up to?  
  
“...C- Jophiel?” The pinkish-blonde maid asked, leaning into the room from the doorway she was _still_ standing in. “Do… do you require aid with getting prepared for training?”  
  
And to top it all off, he was being told that he was going to be sparring with that massive, intimidating elderly man with the goddamned _halberd_ to determine whether or not he ‘remembered’ how to fight.  
  
 _What the hell had his life just become?_  
  
“No, I…” he looked aside, at the… the suit of fantastical full plate harness which had been brought into the room, set upon a stand that displayed its full glory. Interlocking lacquered black plates with gilded gold accents, worn atop a fine chain shirt and a desaturated purple gambeson adorned with a long violet cape… ‘[Dignified Veneer](https://cdn.discordapp.com/attachments/375542541363445760/746153160225063036/dignified-veneer.jpg),” was what Gunter called it. What he described as the most beautiful piece of Lawbringer-produced armour he’d ever had the privilege to lay eyes upon.  
  
The elderly man made damned sure that Jophiel understood just how much of an honour it was for him to own this suit as his personal protection. The Canadian was in no position to refute the man’s assertions, and frankly, despite everything, agreed with him whole-heartedly. It truly was a magnificent suit of armour, one he could scarcely believe he was going to be wearing within the hour.  
  
Then, it occurred to him that he wasn’t getting that fucking full plate on without help.  
  
“...Yes, actually, I’ll need help getting my armour on,” Jophiel called back to the maid.  
  
She was pretty quick to rush to his side with a delighted spring in her step. “Of course! Any help I can provide, C- J- mi’lord!”  
  
...It was almost starting to get annoying how everyone kept tripping over themselves to call him ‘Jophiel’ and not ‘Corrin.’ Was that really something that came so unnaturally to them?  
  
“Thank you, Felicia,” Jophiel gratefully said as he rolled his shoulders and-  
  
“Bend over!” The girl a full head shorter than him lightly ordered, now holding a fine shirt out, as if-  
  
He blinked. Than stared. Then had to fight to keep his mouth from gaping. “...I can dress myself, Felicia,” he said once it was clear she was operating under the expectation that _she_ was going to be dressing him.  
  
She looked taken aback, eyes widening and shoulders drawing together. “O-oh. Sorry, I thought since I normally- I mean sorry, I uh…” The girl went from cheerful to awkwardly uncertain right quick she did.  
  
“I’ll only need help to get the armour on, everything else I think I can manage myself,” Jophiel asserted with a perplexed expression as he turned aside to gaze upon his armour, Dignified Veneer, again.  
  
Walking over to the set, he reached up and took a hold of the black and gold close helm, lifting it off the display and holding it close to his face to examine it. Two shadowed eyes with long, almost tear-line esque vertical slits gazing back at him from the sturdy steel visor.  
  
 _I pray that I won’t be needing to rely upon you in the coming days to preserve my… second chance at life, as it were,_ Jophiel thought as he stared upon the gorgeous all-encompassing helm in his hands. _But if it does come to that, something tells me that I can trust you to shield me from all but the most overwhelming and esoteric of dangers._  
  
The displaced Canadian lifted the helm, holding it up to a lamp, and a wan smile found purchase on his now rather fae features as its gold adornments glinted radiantly in the light.  
  
 _I entrust my life to you, Dignified Veneer, as strange a name as you have for a suit of armour, and already, I know you at least won’t let me down._


	4. A Knight’s Resolve

_“Holy fucking shit!”_ Jophiel cried out as his legs dangled out uselessly, gazing down at Gunter’s anachronistically _bronze-plated_ yet curiously fantastical fully-encased Medieval form. The aged man was effortlessly balancing him high atop the end of a quarterstaff jabbed into his waist, while the younger already two-hundred-pound man was _fully encased in bulky steel plate armour._  
  
“You should listen to your elders, young prince,” Gunter declared, his voice utterly deadpan, unbothered by the incredible burden he was propping up high above his head as though it were nothing. “Lawbringers are strength made manifest. This combined with our armour, a secret of our sect and without equal in all the world, is what makes us the unstoppable force of law and order we are…”  
  
Jophiel felt his heart plummet into his stomach as he once again felt g-forces acting against his form, the ground rushing up to meet his face before a terrible clang resounded out accompanied by a staggering yelp. The sound of Gunter slamming him into the dusty ground at his feet.  
  
Followed by another clang of wood on steel, the end of Gunter’s quarterstaff banging once against the visor of Jophiel’s helmet to indicate a finishing blow. “A lesson I am going to force you to relearn as swiftly as is possible if nothing else.”  
  
Indeed, it had taken but a scant twenty minutes to determine that whatever martial skills the previous owner of this body possessed, were rather thoroughly lost when the man formerly known as Joe took up residence in his cranium.  
  
Gunter found that _rather vexing_ , given the amount of time and effort he’d put into training ‘Corrin’ before then.  
  
However, Jophiel was rather confused by something in particular as he grunted and grumbled to rise to a knee. “Picking up and throwing people around, and attacking an opponent’s back doesn’t seem particularly honourable…” the ghostly pale-skinned figure wheezed from the ground up at the great, armoured, knightly figure that seemed to be trying to teach him to fight, well… dirty.  
  
“Honourable?” Gunter scoffed at the world, shaking his head as if in disapproval. “Boy, Lawbringers fight not for honour, but to assert the rule of law over barbarism. Where society has broken down, where lawlessness and cruelty rules, we are _justice_.”  
  
Gunter made the assertion with absolute conviction, raising his staff and slamming the butt of it down on the earth at his feet, as though it were a gavel.  
  
“We go where we are needed. In Nohr, in Ashfeld, in Hoshido, and even in Valkenheim if the base tribals living there possessed any respect for the concept of civilization and cooperation. That even the Dawn Empire will call upon us in truly dire times should speak volumes of the necessity of our organization, and of our effectiveness. Effectiveness brought upon by a _ruthless_ dedication to the utter decimation of anarchy, to crushing the very idea of chaos with no mercy, no concerns of treating _anarchists_ with honour.”  
  
Gunter’s voice had, somehow, taken on an even steelier quality than it had previously been projecting as he directed his gaze skywards, and even though he was wearing a completely face-concealing Conquistador-style helmet, Jophiel could tell that there was genuine pride on his face.  
  
“You may not truly be an acolyte of the Order from which I retired with decorations, but I have been brought here to train you as though you were, with the blessings of the Grand Court as a gesture of goodwill between our city-state and your empire. With that in mind, I shall continue to train you as if you a true Lawbringer, with a sense of duty and ideals that will serve you well as royalty. You who will be expected to stand strong against any and all disorder and turmoil which will threaten the stability of your empire.”  
  
He redirected his gaze downwards, to the unbloodied would-be warrior at his feet.  
  
“So leave concerns of honour to the naive Wardens of Ashfeld and the Holy Order of Balaur, young prince. You will do what is necessary to protect the rule that governs your people, and never forget that with this in mind, the ends more than justify the means. You will be strong, as you _must_ be.”  
  
That… said a fair bit about this world’s political status and the Lawbringer Order’s place in it. Jophiel had assumed that they were simply a contingent of Nohr’s army up to that point, but now, it turned out they were a completely independent city-state that was allied, or at least on cooperative terms with the Dusk Empire of Nohr. And were in fact in some ways technologically _superior_ to Nohr.  
  
From what he had seen, Nohrian arms and armour seemed to be downright Classical in their design and function. No more advanced than what Rome had managed to produce at the height of their power: segmented strips of iron worn over padding which at the most only shielded the chest and shoulders well, leaving the limbs outright exposed or protected by inferior materials.  
  
Meanwhile, Gunter was wearing what looked like mildly fantastical but no less Medieval interlocking plate; armour which bared _no_ exposed skin whatsoever. A blatantly anachronistic technological gap of nearly _seventeen centuries_ on prominent display.  
  
Jophiel’s own armour was more… _fantastical_ , in design than Gunter’s, yet nevertheless was still full plate which covered everything save for joints, which were themselves reinforced by padding and chain.  
  
The technological gap was comparable to early World War 1 tanks and state-of-the-art modern main battle tanks. Sure, they both ultimately accomplished the same goal, but the efficiency, quality control, and reliability differences were _staggering_ to a near-comical degree.  
  
Furthermore, mention of ‘Wardens’ and a ‘Holy Order of Balaur?’ On top of this ‘Dawn Empire of Hoshido…’ the displaced man could only wonder how complex this world’s political situation would ultimately reveal itself to be.  
  
While Jophiel pondered the Lawbringer’s words, Gunter nodded, though ostensibly to himself more than anything before continuing.  
  
“And on that note: you are as strong as I am, boy,” Gunter asserted matter-of-factly. “While that will not carry you through a battle against a truly skilled foe in war, it will bring you far against simple-minded fools who do not understand just how unbreakable your armour is. Enough to keep you alive in your father’s upcoming trials, at least.”  
  
And _that_ Jophiel found rather difficult to believe. Sure, he’d done hard labour in his time, cutting down and hauling about trees day in and day out, construction jobs… but being strong enough to lift an actively resistant grown-ass man in heavy-ass Medieval armour, and just… _keeping_ them in the air like it was nothing?  
  
“I am being soft on you now, boy,” Gunter stated blithely. “Continue to refuse to exercise your true power, and I will begin to actively hurt you. Your memories may have atrophied, but your body has _not_. Stand, and do what I know you are capable of, or your sisters will have all the excuse they need to coddle you in bed for the rest of your days.”  
  
Jophiel knelt there for a few moments, staring up at the bronze titan through his ocular slits. For a moment, he wondered how this man felt so confident outright threatening who was apparently a _prince_ , though… he remembered the scars on his back, and the pieces fell into place.  
  
He would fight, or he would suffer.  
  
The conclusion made a pit form in his stomach, yet… it was so damned obvious.  
  
Nohr, a nation where royalty was locked away in fortresses and forced to learn to fight under pain of torture, _whipping_ by the appearance of the scars on Jophiel’s back, followed by life in isolation for failure.  
  
This is what he had awoken to. Isekai’d into a world where he was a prince… a prince who was savaged and punished when he failed to prove himself strong, a warrior, willing and able to fight.  
  
He didn’t know what he’d done to deserve this cruelty, but…  
  
This was his lot in life now, wasn’t it?  
  
He didn’t want to be tortured. He surely didn’t want to be isolated from his fellow man for the rest of his second life.  
  
So, he thought as he rose to his feet, he would fight.  
  
“You stood under the burden of that Dignified Veneer with surprising ease, for one that seems to consider themselves so pitifully weak,” Gunter bemusedly observed, gripping his staff in hand as though it were the halberd he carried normally.  
  
Jophiel paused at that, standing tall and warily. Indeed, plate armour was supposed to not be as great a burden as much media depicted it in reality, though… it felt to Jophiel as if he were wearing nothing more than particularly heavy winter clothes. It was truly no great burden at all.  
  
Strangely, it wasn’t even heating up as real plate armour tended to do, great hunks of metal being bad at dispersing body heat as they were… though that could at least be chalked up to magic, which apparently existed here and _he was trying to not think about that focus on the here and now and what you have to do right in front of you damn it!_  
  
“Pick up your staff,” Gunter ordered, gesturing at the length of wood at the displaced Canadian’s feet as he stepped back, creating some distance between himself and the apparent prince. “And hoist me into the sky, just as I did to you, or I _will_ break something as punishment, my liege.”  
  
Jophiel could scarcely believe how brutal this was. What sort of Sparta-esque hell had he awoken to?  
  
But, despite his misgivings, he complied. He said he would fight, and god help him, he would fight.  
  
Picking up his staff, holding it before him like a spear, Jophiel steeled himself and, despite his misgivings, he charged, great clangs of steel on compacted earth resounding out with each powerful step.  
  
Gunter had braced himself, though simply stood and took the charge, barely even grunting as Jophiel drove forward, tensing his muscles as he leveraged the push into a lift…  
  
And with even _less_ effort than it had ever taken him to raise a tree on his shoulder in the prime of his last life, he hoisted Gunter up and off the ground, and quickly found the elderly, bronze-clad knight gazing down upon him from up above, their positions reversed nigh-on effortlessly.  
  
Jophiel just held him there, blinking up at the figure as his mind attempted to process what was happening.  
  
“As I said, young prince,” Gunter said in a heretofore uncharacteristically smug tone tapping the side of Jophiel’s blackened helmet with his own still firmly grasped quarterstaff almost amusedly. “You should listen to your elders-”  
  
There was a loud crack and the wooden staff Jophiel had been using in place of a halberd snapped in half, and with a legitimately shocked yelp from _both_ knightly figures, they collapsed into a pile of tangled limbs and clanging metal. A grumbling old man, and a very confused Canadian both trying to maintain some kind of dignity as they attempted to disentangle themselves from each other.  
  
\---  
  
Legionaries were dutifully standing watch in their usual perches with javelins in hand as Kamui cringed. Just as her brother seemed to be getting the hang of his strength too…  
  
Corrin and Gunter scrambled to rise to their feet, and the dark-haired girl turned to face her elder, fair-haired brother. They had watched the proceedings from the drab sidelines in the fortress courtyard.  
  
Leon had indeed been tending to important official duties in place of his siblings so that they may watch over their amnesiac brother as he trained, just as he said he would, and so was the only member of royalty absent from the courtyard at that time.  
  
“Xander…” Kamui pleaded warily. “You wouldn’t actually let Corrin be hurt again, right?”  
  
“He prefers to go by Jophiel now, Kamui,” the stern blond cooly replied, his black finery contrasting heavily with their drab, spartan surroundings. “Just as I prefer to go by Marx…”  
  
His white-clad younger sister pouted at his light admonishment, and he resisted the urge to roll his eyes in a rather unprincely manner at the sight.  
  
“This is how Nohr operates, sister. All members of high society _must_ be capable of contributing to the empire, of serving to defend and attack for those that cannot fight for themselves. He must prove through his merit rather than birthright that he is worthy of the position offered to him by blood. I did, Camilla did, Elise did, Leon did, and you will. You know this.”  
  
The princely figure’s expression took on a grim cadence, lips being drawn into a taut line.  
  
“And now, on the eve of father’s challenge, it is absolutely imperative that we push our brother as hard as we must, lest he sinks when it comes time to swim… or, so that he may, at the very least, convincingly tread water until you both are released from this place.”  
  
The pale-skinned princess didn’t like it, but ultimately, Xander was right. She herself was a skilled swordsman and a… dabbling lightning mage. At this point, she would be more than capable of defending herself against moderately skilled foes, at least according to Xander’s reckoning.  
  
Corrin, though… he was downright _helpless_ with what should have been his area of mastery. She’d never have been able to close distance with him previously, his halberd serving as an impassable bulwark to further bolster the pure _steel_ of his impenetrable armour. Now, simply _looking_ at him, even she would be able to punish his horrendous form, drive a blade into any of the gaps in his shell with ease.  
  
The thought terrified her, but at the sight of his pinkish-blonde maid charging forth from the sidelines, attempting to help him to his feet in something of a girlish panic, she had to remind herself: Gunter and Felicia would be by his side the entire time. Both were amazing warriors on their own and surely could carry him through the trying times to come.  
  
It occurred to her that she should probably be helping Corrin too. Trying to train him how to fight with a sword again, should he ever lose his halberd, but…  
  
The sight of him, her dear elder brother looking at her like a stranger tore her heart asunder, and she couldn't bear it so soon after having gone through the pain of having lost him.  
  
So, Kamui kept her distance, trusting his more emotionally strong retainers to support him for now. Gazing aside at Xander, she presumed that he felt much the same way.  
  
And as Gunter took Corrin by the arm and roughly hoisted him up to his feet with little aplomb, as though the large-framed prince weighed nothing at all before praising his might, she indeed reminded herself that her brother was in good hands for now.  
  
\---  
  
“Big brother!” Elise cheerfully chirped as she barreled forth upon petite feet onto the courtyard like a golden blonde twin-tailed bat out of hell, careening right into Jophiel’s midsection mere moments after his metallic armour was removed to reveal little other than the cloth padding beneath.  
  
A lesser man might have been toppled by the sheer impact force of the tiny girl’s assault, but having the build of a Lawbringer meant that Jophiel only seemed to register her charge at all by ear and sight, utterly unmoved by the veritable tackle.  
  
He gazed downwards, an awkward, forced smile appearing on his face. “O-oh, hi, uh... Elise-?”  
  
“It was really cool the way you picked up Gunter like that!” Elise cut him off excitedly, a wide, beaming smile on her face as she did so. “You’re definitely the strongest warrior ever!”  
  
Jophiel didn’t know how to handle this sort of affection from these people… and, especially now that he was certain that he- or rather, Corrin- had been tortured for displeasing them previously.  
  
While Elise and Camilla had been watching from the rafters a fairer distance away from the training circle, Marx and Kamui had been standing well within earshot of Gunter’s little assertion, and neither had said anything about a threat of actual physical violence being levied towards a prince, their supposed brother.  
  
Silently, he wondered just how caring this family truly was when it mattered.  
  
“They haven’t been pushing you too hard, have they my darling Jophiel?” Camilla asked as she sashayed into the area, her half-cape flowing behind her as elegantly as her long periwinkle hair did. “It would be too much to bear if you were hurt by negligent teachers again…”  
  
The tall woman’s eyes flitted Marx’s way ever so briefly, her expression remained as motherly as ever. Though, still, Jophiel recognized something, that momentary glint in her eyes at the involuntary movement. Fury. Genuine, abject, though cool fury towards the man that had, supposedly, been the one that had thrown the previous inhabitant of this body off a tower.  
  
He glanced down at the tiny blonde beaming up at him and heaping on the praise with what seemed to be genuine earnesty, then towards the more matronly figure who hadn’t ceased worrying over his condition since he’d set eyes on her…  
  
Jophiel wondered if maybe these two, so quick to offer affection and support while the others were distant, at best, at least weren’t so bad.


	5. Preparations for Departure

“Everyone,” Leon’s distinctive voice called out on approach towards the group in the courtyard, Elise sticking right to Jophiel’s side the entire time. He was, as per usual, wearing his blackened armour. “Father has sent summons for Jophiel and Kamui. They are to appear before him in Windmire and are expected to depart within the hour.”  
  
There was a moment of palpable shock, Marx, in particular, shaking his head as his brow furrowed. “So soon…? I thought we’d have a few more days at least…!”  
  
“Surely, you jest?” Camilla inquired, her gaze having taken on a steely edge Jophiel had not seen previously.  
  
“If only…” was Leon’s quiet, exhausted response.  
  
“B-but that’s crazy!” Elise protested, stepping forth, clutching her tiny hands to her chest, eyes wide with dumbstruck surprise. “Jophiel needs more time to train! He’s super strong, but-”  
  
“Father’s word is the law,” Leon declared, giving the diminutive girl a level stare, which deflated her apparent rebellion real quick. “Regardless of the state of our brother’s prowess in battle…” he let out a long sigh, though maintained his dignified posture. “The summons have been made. I have already arranged to have horses saddled for the ride ahead. We will have to spend the night afield, though fortifications will be raised by legionaries, as is expected.”  
  
His gaze drifted between Kamui and Jophiel equally, with no small amount of worry visible upon his brow. “Brother, sister… it would be best if you gathered whatever is of value to you from your rooms. There is a likely chance we will not return to this place. Understood?”  
  
Kamui, for her part, had gone still like a deer in headlights the moment Leon had made his initial declaration, her crimson eyes wide as saucers and her back ramrod straight. Clearly, this development caught her very much flat-footed, and she was struggling to process it.  
  
“Kamui…” the modestly-sized blond repeated, hands remaining folded behind his armoured back.  
  
“Ah,” the raven-haired girl finally reacted. “I- right, yes, brother, I understand. I will…” she hesitated before turning to face the butler that seemed to follow her everywhere. “Jakob, will you help me pack? There is not much I would deem so important that it must come now, though…”  
  
“Of course, my lady,” the silver-haired, well-built man replied with a charming smile, motioning towards the gate leading inside the fortress building proper in a gentlemanly manner. “Anything you please. We should proceed immediately if we are truly to depart so soon.”  
  
Kamui nodded, moving to head off before she turned towards Jophiel, giving him a long, serious look with her bright red eyes.  
  
Quickly enough, her visible trepidation faded into a somewhat eager smile, and there was a little spring in her step as she departed with her personal butler in tow.  
  
“I’d best prepare for the ride ahead,” Gunter declared before starting off towards the stables. “Excuse me, young master.”  
  
“We should prepare too, Joph- I mean mi’lord!” Felicia cheerfully declared as she hopped up next to Jophiel, her long pinkish ponytail trailing behind her as she did so. “You have some things you won’t want to leave behind as well, right?”  
  
For his part, Jophiel was… just deeply, deeply alarmed about possibly needing to fight with nothing more than the knowledge that he was freakishly strong. Plate armour or no, that would only carry one so far against a skilled opponent.  
  
Needless to say, as he nodded and started off towards his room with the maid falling into step alongside him, the displaced man could do little other than grimace and attempt to steel himself for whatever trials awaited him.  
  
\---  
  
“...Is that really all you’re taking, J- mi’lord?” Felicia asked, looking a mite surprised at the alleged noble’s choice of belongings.  
  
Which amounted to the sturdiest few changes of clothes he could find in his closet.  
  
“Yes, why?” he asked, rotating a shoulder as he finished rolling up the last shirt before shoving it into his bag. It wasn’t as though he had any particular attachment to anything in this room. He’d only just awakened here recently, after all.  
  
“...It’s just…” Felicia started, gazing down at the bed he’d been resting the bag upon. “Lady Camilla and Lady Elise made this blanket for you…”  
  
At that, the brunet blinked, halting momentarily as he gazed downwards at the bed’s coverings himself. It… didn’t _look_ homemade. Honestly, the quilted blanket fit in with the rest of the room’s decor quite nicely.  
  
...Until he followed one of the seam lines running from the head of the quilt to the foot with a finger, and noticed it suddenly grow a lot less ‘professional’ beneath his touch most of the way down.  
  
Felicia giggled slightly off to the side, a nostalgic expression taking hold on her gentle features. “Lady Elise pouted so much when you said you could clearly tell where Lady Camilla’s needlework ended and hers began… they both worked quite hard on it. It… would be rather sad, to just leave it here after all this time.”  
  
...Elise and Camilla. The two that, at least by first impressions, seemed to actually care about him the most by a wide margin. This information only served to solidify that impression.  
  
“I,” Jophiel began, brow momentarily furrowing before he shook his head in defeat. “It might be best to take this blanket as well, then.”  
  
He didn’t know these girls at all, though already the thought of letting them down when they seemed to care so much got to him if only a bit.  
  
Besides, considering it, this blanket would probably be a lot better than whatever they were provided out in the field for the night’s rest, right?  
  
The pinkette standing alongside him nodded with a wide smile on her face at that. “Alright! I’ll get it rolled up and ready to be strapped to your horse’s back. Leave it to me, Jophiel!” There was a momentary pause before her eyes widened as if she’d been struck, clutching her hands to her chest as she did so. “I mean mi’lord!”  
  
...That was really starting to get old. “It’s fine if you just call me by my name, Felicia,” the ghostly pale figure asserted to the diminutive maid. “I’d prefer it, actually.”  
  
“Ah…” she let out a breath, followed by a small, genuinely happy little smile appearing on her pleasant features. “I see… okay then, J- mi- _Jophiel,_ ” she very visibly corrected herself. “I’ll do that from now on then.”  
  
He nodded once, closing and hefting his leather backpack up and onto his shoulders. The maid immediately went about rolling up the blanket without missing a beat. His armour had already been taken care of and prepared for travel, as he understood it, so there was little else to do besides return to the courtyard and wait to depart. “See you in a bit,” he declared as he turned and moved for the doorway.  
  
Felicia just hummed contentedly in response.  
  
\---  
  
“Your horse, mi’lord!” The maid that addressed Jophiel was dressed ordinarily enough. A simple blue dress under a sturdy apron with a simple kerchief worn atop her crown, quite unlike the complicated, almost anime-esque heeled affair Felicia was garbed in.  
  
The girl herself, on the other hand… had bright blue hair with a single large braid worn over her shoulder that graduated into an equally bright red at the end. She blinked up at Jophiel with large yellow eyes and had what looked like a red gemstone or something stuck in place in the middle of her forehead.  
  
...Maybe the gem was a cultural thing…?  
  
At any rate, being confronted by this aggressively fantastical looking girl had shaken the man no small amount, though he did his best to dispel his surprise and addressed the girl calmly. “Thank you, miss,” he acknowledged as he gazed aside at the completely ordinary-looking horse beside him.  
  
The girl bowed respectfully in turn. “It is my pleasure to serve, lord Jophiel. Pray to tell, do you recall the basics of riding a horse?” she asked innocently.  
  
He looked at the short, exotic girl for a few moments. Granted, he’d ridden horses before, but that was so damned long ago… “Not really, no,” he sighed in defeat. Sure was going to be fun having to keep admitting that he was basically a helpless child as far as Medieval skillsets went…  
  
“Ah, I suppose that cannot be helped,” the young maid replied. “Leviticus is a good horse, and will know to follow the others in a caravan… though I suppose that also means you will have forgotten how to properly groom a horse, mi’lord?”  
  
He drew his lips into a line as he nodded an affirmation.  
  
“Perhaps it would be best if I accompanied you then, mi’lord?” The girl asked. “I am the typical groom for the stabled horses, after all. And it is not as though any are being left behind in the wake of his majesty’s summons.”  
  
“That… might be for the best,” Jophiel nodded. “Yes, if it is no great trouble miss…”  
  
“Lilith,” the girl smiled, lightly cocking her head to the side in a rather cute manner. “I shall ride with the carriage train, then. Do not mind me otherwise, mi’lord.”  
  
“Right. Thank you, Lilith,” Jophiel said as he noted that indeed, the quilt Camilla and Elise had apparently made for him was secured in place on the back of the big burly fucking horse he was to ride.  
  
Lilith merely bowed in response before demurely walking off, presumably to get her place in the caravan situated.  
  
He allowed his eyes to follow her momentarily, though, once again, he found his gaze firmly captured by the sight dominating the fortress courtyard.  
  
The distinctly Roman legionaries that had been patrolling the fortress up to that point, all gathered and preparing to march alongside their noble lieges to the capital city. What looked to be straight-up Romans gearing up for a long march, loading up rucksacks with rations, cooking supplies, ensuring they had all their ducks in order in general…  
  
Hell, they even had the wooden stakes used to form up a marching camp’s temporary walls on their persons.  
  
The sight of what was clearly the centurion marching about, shouting orders and coordinating with his subordinates, a sight Jophiel thought he would never see in a real context, was really throwing him for a loop.  
  
Part of him was also squeeing at the sight, admittedly, but he was mostly just overwhelmed.  
  
At any rate…  
  
“Are you excited to go outside, Jophiel!?” Elise asked as she came barreling in like a bat out of hell and slammed right into his midsection again. He was starting to notice that the tiny twin-tailed girl seemed fond of doing that. “This is the first time you’ll have set foot outside the fort, right? I bet you’re super excited!”  
  
“Uh,” once again, Jophiel was caught flat-footed by the surprise tackle-hug and the tiny girl’s sheer enthusiasm. “Yeah, sure, I guess, uh…” he scanned the courtyard, easily picking out everyone he was expecting to find. Leon, Marx, and Kamui grouped together, the dark-haired girl seeming to vibrate with excitement. Leon was grinning at the sight, though Marx seemed to be keeping his expression more stoic.  
  
Though somebody was missing.  
  
“Hey, where’s Camilla?” He asked, shifting his gaze down at the girl still attached to his waist.  
  
Elise blinked up at him. “Hm? Oh, she’s probably-”  
  
For a brief moment, the tiny girl’s face was darkened by a quick-moving shadow, and her eyes flitted skywards in response.  
  
“Ah, there!” She pointed upwards.  
  
Blinking in confusion, Jophiel followed her finger… and his eyes went wide at the sight of a pair of great leathery wings soaring over the fortress walls. An honest-to-god fucking _wyvern_ just… gliding around the skies above.  
  
It took but a moment for him to also notice that the damned thing was armoured, and to notice a flash of periwinkle atop it… Jesus Christ, was Camilla a fucking wyvern rider?  
  
“Camilla said that she’s gonna land out in front of the main gates once we’re all ready to go. Until then, she’s just giving Shadowscale the chance to stretch his wings before we set off!” Elise cheerfully declared as the _actual fucking wyvern_ just casually _existed_ within Jophiel’s immediate presence.  
  
That… was _really fucking cool_ , the idea that Camilla had a fucking draconic mount. Did she ride that thing into battle- it was armoured, of course she did! Jesus Christ that would probably look so cool-!  
  
Then, it hit Jophiel. Camilla was a Princess of Nohr. Nohr, which had straight-up Roman-style legionaries. _Romans with goddamned wyverns._  
  
Aw hell, _yissssssss!_  
  
For a moment, the general crushing horror of his entire situation was forgotten, and Jophiel found himself simply lost and basking in the mere idea of how stupidly cool something here was. If they had wyverns, what else did they ride? Was he going to see Roman legionaries riding wargs? Griffins? Pegasi?  
  
 _Magic_ Romans? Suddenly, his inner fanboy started acting up, and it was really starting to hit him that despite everything, he was in a _fantasy world_ now.  
  
What else could he expect to see, at this rate?  
  
A tugging sensation on his shirt drew Jophiel’s attention back downwards, and he found Elise grinning up at him like a little gremlin. “Don’t tell her I said so, but Camilla told me that she’s gonna let you and Kamui fly with her on the way to Windmire! I’m jealous, getting to see how everything looks from way up above-”  
  
In an instant, his good cheer was gone. Riding a wyvern. Flying. High above the ground. In the air. So far up. Where he could _fall_.  
  
“-Big brother?” Elise asked, her voice breaking slightly as she noticed the sudden terror on Jophiel’s pale face.  
  
He stared at her for a few moments, fighting to calm himself down. He forced his eyes shut, took a long, deep breath, and found himself at least able to speak again. “I-I t-think I’ll just l-let Kamui ride with Camillia t-this time…”  
  
He was not doing a good job of keeping his reaction in check.  
  
“...Okay then,” Elise replied, her little brow creased in naked concern. She pulled herself into a firm hug and gave Jophiel a tight squeeze before letting go. “She’ll understand… you should probably get on your horse, anyways. We should be leaving soon.”  
  
She’d stepped back, and despite her tiny size, the girl seemed a fair bit more mature than she’d otherwise let on up to that point.  
  
“Hey, let’s do something fun when we stop for camp tonight, okay?” she proposed, a cheerful smile again appearing on her face.  
  
...Not immediately pressing the issue when he was visibly upset but didn’t want to dwell on it, trying to get his mind off of it… Christ, it was really starting to feel like this one actually did legitimately care about him, somehow.  
  
“Sure,” Jophiel managed in an even if somewhat forced tone. “I’ll leave it up to you to figure that out, I guess.”  
  
“Mm…” the tiny twin-tailed blonde planted a hand on her chin, emitting an exaggerated hum as she seemed to consider it. “The soldiers usually play horseshoes to pass the time, or Leon likes to have one of his board games with him all the time…” She closed her eyes, nodded her head, and smiled up at Jophiel. “I think I have a few ideas! Until then, just try and have fun getting to see the outside world, okay?”  
  
“I…” on the one hand, Jophiel had hardly been a sheltered shut-in back home. But on the other… he legitimately knew nothing about this world, so for all he knew, he was about to have his mind blown. _Again_. “I’m sure I will. Thanks, Elise,” he smiled at the girl.  
  
She nodded and waved. “Okay, talk to you in a bit, big brother!” At that, she bounded off at full speed, remarkably fast for a girl with such a short pair of legs.  
  
Jophiel took in a breath, and let it back out.  
  
Looking back upwards, and only just catching the literal tail end of the wyvern before it soared over the fortress walls and out of sight, he hoped that whatever issues he’d developed from… how he got to this world, wouldn’t prove to be difficult to overcome.


	6. A Cataclysmic History

The landscape surrounding the Northern Fortress could be most generously described as ‘tundra.’ Flora was sparse, primarily limited to lichen and moss growing around rock outcroppings- grass and trees being in rather short supply. Fauna was damn near non-existent aside from the occasional bird, and overall there just wasn’t much to see or hear.  
  
The wind was calm that day, which Jophiel chose to take as a small mercy. It was already fairly chilly beyond the fortress walls, the complete lack of large flora to break the wind would have surely resulted in some truly unpleasant gusts.  
  
A shadow passing over him called his attention skyward yet again, Camilla and Kamui continuing to soar about high above. His apparent twin surely having the time of her life seeing the outside world for the first time, while he was firmly planted on the back of his horse, on the ground, right where he wanted to be.  
  
A small shudder ran down his spine at the thought of being airborne yet again, and he gave the simple steed ferrying him towards an uncertain future a grateful pat on the side of his neck. Leviticus nickered at the gesture, bobbing his large equine head up and down as he continued to saunter along the dirt path ahead dutifully.  
  
The sensation of riding a horse was one Jophiel never figured he’d feel again. He was, ultimately, grateful that the horse seemed content to follow the marching army without any real input from himself… and also that he seemed to, somehow, remember how to sit in a saddle properly. Saddle sores were not something he wanted to deal with on top of everything else.  
  
Initially, the displaced man had been rather giddy to watch what were by and large actual Roman Legionaries marching in formation for a time, but… After a while, he was just watching a bunch of dudes walking, and it got understandably old. A sigh escaped his lips as he swivelled his head about in hopes of catching something interesting to look at.  
  
A marching song or something would have actually been welcome in the context of having literally nothing to do, beyond riding a goddamn horse, in a seemingly straight line for hours on end. He supposed the presence of ladies was all the reason to have the Centurion put a stopper on his men’s mouths. Roman marching songs _were_ noted to be rather especially foul, after all.  
  
To his surprise, Jophiel indeed spotted something a fair ways off the trail, and in fact, noticed a disused fork in the road leading to said anomaly. The ruins of what looked like stone buildings. Brick foundations, and what could have been what remained of a defensive mound.  
  
 _“Uuuggghhh!”_ His thought process was, however, broken by a rather unladylike groan approaching from behind him. Elise pulled into view atop her own pretty chestnut mare, wearing a curiously appropriately frilly pink tack with bronze plates stretching from her muzzle to her crest, with twin round plates on her hips. “I always forget how _boring_ marches are! Especially around here, where there isn’t even anything to look at. Just a bunch of ruddy old bricks laying around…”  
  
“You should show a little more respect, Elise,” Leon declared as his own jet-black stallion bearing black and bronze armour with a horned, demonic motif slowed his trot to fall back in line with Jophiel and the twin-tailed blonde. “Ruins they may be, though they are evidence of our empire’s lasting presence in history. Nohrian Hoplites of old once guarded this frontier, serving as a mighty bulwark against the unknown threats of the far north.”  
  
Hoplites… those were a distinctly Greco rather than Roman thing, yet were considered to be a part of the history of Nohr? Curious. That brought up questions of what precisely the empire’s history was like. Incidentally, why was the location now abandoned if this was still considered a ‘frontier?’  
  
“If this location was so important, why was the fortification allowed to fall into ruin?” Jophiel asked the short-haired blond.  
  
“The answer is simple, brother. Besides the simple fact that we no longer had the manpower to leave men to guard the most northern reaches of our borders, the eruption of Mt. Ignis turned the Ignis river into an utterly impassible natural wall cleanly diving the Scrublands in two,” Leon explained matter-of-factly as he sat upon his horse ramrod straight. “Even if danger lurked on the other side, it could not pass into our northern territory by any means. The toxic miasma produced by the mixing of the fires of Ignis and the waters of the Scrublands would take any and all lives, be they man or beast, within moments of exposure.”  
  
...That… wasn’t how volcanoes were supposed to work. Or, at least, Jophiel thought. He was no expert in the matter of volcanic phenomena, but he’d never heard of such a thing occurring on Earth. If he was right, that… was yet another sobering sign that he wasn’t back home, and things may work differently here in more ways than was immediately apparent.  
  
“Why was this obstacle not simply circumvented by air?” Jophiel asked, glancing upwards at the great black wyvern twisting and turning up above.  
  
“Haven’t we only had wyverns for like, thirty years, or something?” Elise asked, leaning forward to get a clear look at Leon on Jophiel’s opposite side.  
  
“Indeed,” Leon answered. “The Ignis river was turned hellish over a millennium ago, and only became sterile again some forty-odd years ago. Air forces were naught but a fantasy in that time, and are still a very young concept in this day and age,” his gaze also drifted upwards. “Albeit one which our elder sister has taken to as a bird to flight.”  
  
The great winged draconic figure closed its wings, performing a sudden spinning divebomb which elicited a loud squeal which surely came from Kamui, pulling out of it with a practised flourish mere metres above the heads of the startled Legionaries marching below.  
  
Either Camilla was a show-off, or she was deliberately screwing with her dark-haired sister.  
  
Leon shook his head and let out an exasperated sigh at the sight and lowered his eyes back to ground level.  
  
“In the golden age, we could have simply sent legions around, had them travel westwards downriver until the miasma thinned out enough to allow for safe crossing. But the Cataclysm tore the geography of the old empire asunder, turning what had once been calm forests, gentle plains, and reliable trails into nightmarish hellscapes. Utterly impassible by even the most skilled of adventurers, emitting foul, searing air, often collapsing in on itself with no warning to reveal great gaping maws, revealing churning flames and roiling magma…”  
  
Leon turned towards Jophiel, and his eyebrows popped up slightly at the look of utter confusion on the pale-skinned brunet’s features before he palmed his own face.  
  
“My apologies, Jophiel. You would not recall any of this in the first place, and here I go rambling off again…”  
  
“Rambling to yourself and _boring_ us…” Elise whined, having drooped forwards in her saddle to flop onto her horse’s neck, a tortured look on her face. “If I wanted to be lectured about old stuff nobody cares about I’d ask Gunter to tell me about how the Lawbringer court works again…” Her horse sighed, almost as if the animal itself was finding her behaviour exasperating.  
  
“I…” while indeed, the info dump _was_ a bit overwhelming due to a lack of context, it was nonetheless interesting. “I’m actually finding this rather interesting.”  
  
 _“Noooo, don’t encourage him!”_ Elise cried as she buried her face in her mare’s crest. Said mare sighed again.  
  
Leon, on the other hand, smiled widely at the declaration. “Ah, it is good to see that your enthusiasm for learning of the world at large remains intact, brother. I recall spending many long nights reading on such subjects with you in our youth. Perhaps we will have the chance to remake such memories in the coming days.”  
  
...Well, Jophiel would take that as a win. “Perhaps… but, you mentioned a Cataclysm, and that the Ignis river was only made crossable recently?”  
  
As Elise groaned in frustration into her horse’s hide, Leon preened like a peacock. “Yes, the Cataclysm… a terrible disaster that struck the world at large over a thousand years ago. Something, of which we are still not certain, drew the ire of the Dusk dragon, and the rage of our patron deity caused the very earth itself to split and erupt in fire overnight. The world shook, the oceans churned, foundations thought unbreakable shattered, once stalwart and serene mountains erupted…”  
  
His features quickly took on a sombre, grim appearance.  
  
“Ash choked out the light of the sun, continents shifted and were rearranged daily, entire ecosystems were culled of life overnight. Even drinkable water became a precious commodity. By all accounts, it was surely the end of days, a catastrophe from which there could be no salvation. And yet…”  
  
A smile found purchase on the blond’s face.  
  
“The Dusk dragon gave us strength, and despite the seemingly unending nightmare, the great empire of Nohr persisted. Our legions unbroken, our lineage intact. We are the direct blood descendants of those who walked the world in the golden age, who bore witness to the end itself, and remained strong throughout.”  
  
Leon nodded his head pridefully.  
  
“So strong is the very _idea_ of Nohr, that even our Legions that were trapped on the far side of the Ignis river when the Cataclysm began survived to the modern day, emerged from the dispersing miasma stronger than ever! No matter the challenge, no matter the danger, Nohr will rise, stronger for its trials!”  
  
Leon had started to rear up in his saddle, eyes lighting up as all nearby Legionaries within earshot responded with a near-perfectly synched “RAH!” thrusting their spears into the sky.  
  
Marx had been riding well ahead of the three, speaking with Gunter and Jakob from horseback before turning back to glimpse at the commotion, visibly sighing and shaking his head with some degree of mirth before returning his attention to his discussion.  
  
Jophiel, meanwhile, was just taken aback by the sudden bout and display of patriotism. That really wasn’t what he’d been expecting out of asking about this ‘Cataclysm,’ but at any rate…  
  
“There were Legions on the other side of the river that survived being cut off from the empire for a _thousand_ years?” Holy shit, a fantastical Roman Legion surviving in a post-apocalyptic frontier with no support for _that_ goddamned long? _That_ sounded like one hell of a tale to tell.  
  
“Indeed!” Leon replied cheerfully. “The ruins we’d just passed were but a checkpoint on the road to more dedicated fortifications even further north of the Northern Fortress, which did not exist in the golden age.”  
  
His smile was positively radiant.  
  
“Built upon the other side of the river, the men and their families, traders, and civilian caravans established around the fortified towns on what had then been the frontier were trapped apart from the empire, yet did not falter. They stand to this day and were waiting tall and proud when we crossed the Ignis river for the first time forty years ago to greet our fellows. In time, the Knights of Ashfeld will remember that the same blood flows through our veins, and our empire will be made whole once again.”  
  
Jophiel had been nodding along, and only in the end did he cock his head in confusion. “...Wait, the Legions on the other side aren’t a part of Nohr?” He asked. “You… made it sound like they still identified as Nohrian.”  
  
A sheepish look crept across Leon’s features as he rubbed the back of his neck. “Ah, yes, well, as I said, it is only a matter of time before the Knights see reason and return to the fold of the empire proper. They… were under the impression that they were all that was left for a long time, and… well, unpleasantries occurred, but-”  
  
“You mean that they’ve been fighting each other for the past thousand years, right?” Elise suddenly piped up. Jophiel turned to glance at her and caught sight of her downright _tormented_ expression directed his way. She didn’t say a word, yet the look in her eyes crying ‘why do you hurt me this way, brother?’ spoke volumes about how she felt about this little history lesson.  
  
He winced, but… well, this was the most interesting thing to happen since they’d set off, and he wanted to know more.  
  
“...Yes, the northern Legions fractured and began to fight amongst themselves,” Leon clarified with a grimace. “That is, in fact, the reason their armour, weapons, strategy, tactics, and even culture have diverged so heavily from our own. Only the Iron Legion claims to have any remaining feelings of kinship to Nohr, and even they are so detached from the Golden age that they’ve fallen to a heathen religion, ceased worship of the Dusk dragon and are resistant to talks of reuniting the empire.”  
  
The blond rather clearly did not like admitting this, and it _did_ sound like an admission, bizarrely.  
  
“However, Prior Vortiger of the Holy Order of Balaur is currently present and in talks in Windmire with father, and I have every confidence that he shall be swayed back beneath the Dusk dragon’s wings, and will bring his people with him. Our empire will be made whole again, we need only have faith and patience.”  
  
...Well, he had faith in his patriotism, if nothing else.  
  
“No more, please…” Elise pleaded, still flopped over on her horse with all the grace of a beached whale.  
  
Leon sighed, and visibly fought the urge to roll his eyes. “Very well, sister. If you wish to discuss more, brother, we may do so upon setting up camp for the night. For now, let us have mercy upon Elise.”  
  
Jophiel simply nodded, and Elise finally rose from her slump with a sigh. “Finally, I thought you would never stop talking… so, Jophiel, how are you liking getting to be outside of that stuffy old fortress for the first time?” She asked with a smile.  
  
He looked at her, looked around at the… _barren_ plains around them, and blinked owlishly.  
  
“It’s depressing,” he replied rather bluntly.  
  
“Eh?” she made a small, surprised noise at that before her features fell momentarily. “Oh… well!” she immediately snapped back into a wide smile. “The Southern Scrublands _are_ really boring, but it gets _much_ more interesting when you get closer to Windmire. It’ll get more exciting eventually, I promise!”  
  
...Well, she was earnest, if nothing else. “I’m looking forward to it,” he replied, giving the girl a small smile.  
  
He wasn’t being entirely dishonest either. Nohr, thus far, was an allegedly post-apocalyptic fantasy Roman empire with wyvern air forces and worshipped a singular deific dragon - rather than a pantheon of gods led by a douche, lacking in the ability to keep his prick tucked away in his toga. It also seemed to incorporate women into its armed forces, based on Camilla and Kamui’s apparent martial training. And, by the sounds of it, had splinter off-shoots which evolved into Medieval knightly orders _alongside_ the empire…  
  
Not to mention this ‘Cataclysm,’ what sounded like a genuine apocalypse that tore the world asunder, changed the very topography of the planet in ages past, through which this empire _persisted_. An empire that was, at a minimum, a thousand years old.  
  
All of that learned from little more than a discussion about a _border river_.  
  
Already, Jophiel felt as though he was only scratching the absolute tip of the iceberg. This world had a history, one which already felt nothing like Earth’s. He could only imagine what else he would learn in the coming days, who, _what_ he would encounter. He’d say that he’d only seen humans this far, but…  
  
Kamui was extremely pale in comparison to her apparent siblings, had large eyes of an almost ethereal crimson hue, long silken black hair amidst shades of blond and _periwinkle_ , features that were, frankly, distinctly _Japanese_ in form, and… she had distinctly _pointed elf ears_ that everyone- well, _almost_ everyone else rather pointedly lacked.  
  
Even more, above all else, _magic was real here_.  
  
This world was clearly a fantastical one. Whatever awaited Jophiel in Windmire, and possibly beyond, only time would tell. Despite everything, no small part of him was almost giddy with anticipation.  
  
Would he encounter beast-men? Demi-humans, hybrids and other fae creatures? What sorts of sights would he be greeted with? A Japan equivalent _must_ have existed to account for Kamui’s facial structure… was this world’s Japan perhaps one of elves? Elven samurai? Elven samurai riding wyverns, duelling magical Romans also riding wyverns, perhaps?  
  
So many possibilities… so much potential for… _adventure_.  
  
Jophiel smiled widely, genuinely, for the first time since waking up in the Empire of Nohr. The sight brought an equally wide pair of smiles on the faces of his new golden-haired siblings, and the displaced man actually felt some excitement overtaking him now.  
  
...Surely, these hopes would pay off as soon as they were off of this boring flat-ass fucking _tundra_ and neared civilization.


	7. Pathway to Darkness

Jophiel’s gaze wandered with great interest, the sights of the capital city of Windmire rapidly proving to indeed be far more gripping than the depressing tundra of the southern scrublands.  
  
The city was built within what looked to be a massive and ancient crater - the city walls built atop the circular mound that encircled the streets many stories below. The architecture was something of a half-step between ancient Greco-Roman, and French Baroque - the palette was dominated by dark greys, blacks, golds and muted violets. The look was strikingly regal in a dark way.  
  
With one’s neck craned back to peer at the tall city walls, many patrolling wyverns could be spotted gliding in the skies above. Nohr, it seemed, did indeed have a proper air force, and wasn’t that just something to consider about a fantastical Roman empire.  
  
The brunet’s attention drifted back downwards to ground level. Wide, expertly paved streets stretched out in all directions, traffic proceeding along well-defined lanes in an orderly manner, carts driven by horses while the increasingly familiar sight of legionaries went about their established foot patrol routes.  
  
Beyond the expected military presence was the civilian element. Men, women, and children went about their business (making way for the royal procession aside), garbed in clothes which seemed more European Medieval than Classical Roman - almost distinctly French, in particular. At a glance, there was little to think about so far as the citizens of Windmire were concerned. However… quickly enough, Jophiel picked up on something distinct; a charge in the air, an almost electric tenseness that seemed to pervade every inch of the city, showing itself in the unexpectedly gaunt expressions of all those around. A quiet, dreadful desperation.  
  
The apparent prince would quickly discover why.  
  
Upon passing through what seemed to be a marketplace on the main road to Castle Krakenburg, it was difficult to not notice how utterly… _barren_ it was of food. There _were_ edibles to be found, but when he _could_ spot anything, it was in limited quantities, and jealously guarded by those who could claim it.  
  
“...I sure hope this famine ends soon,” Elise soberly said off to Jophiel’s side. “It’s really hard knowing how hungry the common folk must be.”  
  
Indeed, he could see it now that she’d mentioned it. Rare was the visibly well-fed man on the streets of Windmire. Tight belts and baggy clothes were a distressingly common sight. Famine, among the worst inflictions a society could face, let alone a Medieval one. The displaced Canadian noted that he’d been well-fed in his time at the Northern Fortress. It seemed that, despite everything, some things never changed. If a noble was going hungry, civilization itself must have been long since lost.  
  
He suppressed the guilt that panged in his chest and did his best to focus on the road ahead. It was a straight shot to Krakenburg, past the five(!) layers of internal defensive walls Windmire boasted, down the almost excessively wide street which left plenty of shoulder space for the legion which had accompanied them to stretch their shoulders.  
  
Jophiel estimated that the distance between the main gates and Castle Krakenburg in the heart of the city to be about ten or so kilometres. Going off the positioning of the outer walls, he guessed that the city as a whole was about twenty kilometres across in any given direction. Far from a small settlement by Medieval standards, all things considered. The procession passed through what seemed to be a large, circular plaza not far from the gatehouse leading to the castle proper. That plaza alone had to have been some three-hundred metres across.  
  
Needless to say, Nohr seemed to have a penchant for building big.  
  
Eventually, the threshold of the gateway leading to the Emperor’s dwelling was passed… and on the other side, Jophiel found a single, massive bridge leading out to a massive, dark castle with tall, ominous spires built up in the centre of what almost looked like a blackened strip mine.  
  
To be perfectly frank, it looked almost _aggressively_ evil. To an outright cartoonish degree, even…  
  
Few words were exchanged as the group proceeded onwards, a quick glance around revealing little other than the tense grimaces held by all Jophiel’s apparent siblings. It made sense, given what they were marching towards him and Kamui’s apparent upcoming test. He would not lie, he could not ignore the widening pit in his stomach at the idea. Gunter’s brief training session had made it abundantly clear that said test would be martial in nature, and Jophiel had little other than raw strength to support him in this ordeal.  
  
So, the alabaster-skinned young man found his eyes fixing themselves ahead, and he could do little but maintain his composure as Leviticus lightly trotted forth with nary a care in the world.  
  
\---  
  
The great, two-story-tall doors leading to the emperor’s chamber opened as Jophiel and his siblings stood to wait for permission to pass inside. Quickly enough, a man clad in white robes trimmed in gold stepped beyond the gate, flanked by a small procession of similarly dressed figures - he was at least as tall as Jophiel himself was at six feet, though slighter in frame and armoured in gilded silver plates rather unlike the apparent prince’s own blackened steel, accented magnificently by a golden crown resting atop his hooded head. His countenance was firm, almost similar to Gunter’s. His eyes, though showing the telltale signs of a long, hard life, also glinted with something more: a brightness that only came from the most selfless and generous of individuals.  
  
Notably, the gates to the throne room closed again just as soon as the men were clear of it. Apparently the princes and princesses weren’t allowed in just yet.  
  
As the man’s gaze quickly drifted over the gathered royals, Jophiel idly wondered if he’d just laid eyes on a bonafide paladin.  
  
“Prior Vortiger,” Marx stated, stepping forth and respectfully bowing to the man whose outright holy countenance contrasted so heavily with the dark, oppressive aura that seemed to permeate anything of Nohrian origin. “We had heard word that you were present in Windmire to engage in diplomatic talks with Father. I hope you were able to come to an acceptable agreement on what matters were pertinent?”  
  
“I am sure that you have now come to your senses and will reunite with the empire, as is proper and inevitable for one of our illustrious legions?” Leon asked, an almost cocky lop-sided grin finding purchase on his features as he did so.  
  
The paladin-esque figure seemingly named Vortiger glanced Leon’s way before bowing his head respectfully to Marx. “Discussions have been far from fruitful, your Grace. The Emperor has suspended talks for the time being to call upon the Senate’s council on the matter… said matter being the Holy Order of Balaur’s continued sovereignty beyond the borders of the Dusk Empire of Nohr.”  
  
Leon looked as if he’d bitten down on a lemon as the older man spoke, and his lips remained firmly sealed at that.  
  
“As talks have yet to reach an acceptable end, I am retiring to my quarters for the time being, and pardon my abruptness, though I must do so with some haste. I was expected to have departed back for Ashfeld by today and must send word of this delay at once. With that in mind, I must beg your leave, my lord,” Vortiger asserted.  
  
Marx waved the knightly figure off following a bow, and without another word, the starkly bright figure was on his way with what was likely his fellow knights in tow. The only outward signs of any distraction on his part being the way his gaze lingered momentarily on Jophiel and Kamui; understandable, given the pair’s unusual, almost fae-like features which clashed so heavily with all around them.  
  
The was additionally a moment where Vortiger’s gaze met Gunter’s, and the pair shared a pair of mutually respectful nods. Given that they were both from Knightly Orders from Ashfeld, it only made sense that they’d acknowledge each other to some degree. Quickly enough following that, though, he and his retinue were gone.  
  
“...Such madness,” Leon remarked bitterly, clenching his fists as he shook his head in disappointment. “Prior Vortiger is renowned for his good sense and honour in Ashfeld. By what logic does he refuse to return to roost beneath the guiding wing of the Dusk Dragon? Are he and his people not descendants of Nohr’s own legions?”  
  
“Not all share the patriotic fervour for our ancestral lands which you do, little brother,” Marx remarked pointedly, his features betraying no significant feelings one way or the other as he stood tall. “The Knights of Ashfeld will surely see reason, but it will take time. Recall that only the Iron Legion still holds some degree of connection to their homelands, and even in their case it is tenuous enough for them to value their independence more strongly.”  
  
“Why would they even want to come back to Nohr now, when that’d mean giving up all the food they have?” Elise asked, her little brow creased in discontent at the topic of discussion. “It’d be one thing if the famine wasn’t so strong, but the Knightly Orders are all so small that anyone rejoining Nohr wouldn’t have enough food to share between themselves and us.”  
  
“I do not believe that any single Order returning to Nohr would be enough to adequately feed Windmire alone,” Camilla noted as she brushed her luxuriant locks off a shoulder. “If anything, it would do little other than spread discontent and disorder beyond our own borders as is.”  
  
“Then that’s why they should all return to Nohr in whole at once!” Leon protested, his brow heavily furrowed as his shoulders tensed. “It’s bad enough that those wretched Hoshidans will not part with a single grain of their gross surplus of rice, and we cannot even rely on our own countrymen to aid us when our need is so great? There is no reason in-”  
  
“Leon,” Marx interjected firmly. “The Knightly Orders of Ashfeld ceased to be Nohrian when their ties to us were frayed so greatly as to allow them to turn their blades inwards at each other many hundreds of years ago. It is one thing to be optimistic when looking towards the future of Nohr and the many Legions of Ashfeld, but you carry such sentiments to unrealistic degrees, expecting them to have maintained their Nohrian identity centuries after believing us gone entirely.”  
  
Leon looked _particularly_ displeased by that assertion, given the way his jaw and hands clenched all the harder, though he didn’t say anything further at that, even as Marx continued to elucidate his own thoughts on the matter to the younger blond man.  
  
“...I… never expected everything to be so… _complicated_ outside of the Northern Fortress,” Kamui hesitantly noted in a hushed tone, having sidled up next to Jophiel opposite Felicia and remained close at his side since the pair had dismounted and made their way through the oppressive atmosphere of Castle Krakenburg. “Leo always made it sound so simple when telling us about Nohr and the Knights. That they are of Nohr, regardless of the gulf the Cataclysm had driven between us in ages past…”  
  
“It seems like he may have a penchant for downplaying anything that doesn’t line up with his patriotic ideals,” Jophiel quietly replied. “Have you never talked to the others about history?”  
  
“Xander was always too busy to speak of such ‘frivolities,’ Camilla always wanted to focus on ‘us time’ when she visited, and Elise would threaten to cry if I tried to ‘bully’ her into talking about ‘boring history stuff,’” Kamui muttered in a low, annoyed tone as her delicate lips puffed out into a pout. “And Xander always said that it’s improper to seek out such knowledge from servants, so I never asked Jakob about it either…”  
  
“He did? But Cor-Jophiel always asked me what I knew about the world all the time,” Felicia started with some surprise visible on her features before Gunter could be heard growling in bemusement behind her, at which point she realized she was speaking out of turn and snapped her mouth shut with a start.  
  
At that, Jophiel sighed. “At ease, Felicia, you didn’t do anything wrong,” he said with a shake of his head. The girl seemed to be overly tense about propriety despite it clearly not coming naturally to her. Frankly, if not for the incredible tension surrounding recent events, he’d have probably preferred the pinkish-blonde’s company over anyone else’s as it was. She was one of the few people that seemed to naturally relax around him if she wasn’t actively stopping herself from doing otherwise, which was much preferred to the awkward discomfort and formal stiffness that came with everyone else.  
  
“...I suppose that does sound like him,” Kamui noted even as Felicia relaxed somewhat next to Jophiel. “Though I’m not entirely sure that I could see you behaving so brazenly- or rather, carelessly at this point, big brother,” the brunette observed. “You’ve changed since-” it seemed to be the vaguely Japanese girl’s turn to snap her mouth shut, as her attention rapidly shifted to the doorway leading to the emperor’s chambers where he was currently speaking with the apparent Nohrian Senate.  
  
Case-in-point on ‘awkward discomfort.’  
  
Not feeling any particular need to press the issue with the girl that was apparently his sister, Jophiel simply allowed the little talk to die and tolerated the growing tension between himself and the two girls flanking him on either side. Gunter stood as steadfastly as ever behind him, utterly unperturbed by the little talk.  
  
Jophiel allowed himself to fall into something of a fugue state as the minutes dragged on, neither of the two girls seeming willing to break the awkward silence that had fallen between the three, with the other siblings seemingly absorbed in their talks about international politics and such. As such, he wasn’t entirely sure of how much time had passed before the great doors opened again, and this time held open as a legionary in richly gilded armour stepped out and addressed the group as what had to have been the Senate filed out, speaking to each other with great fervour as they proceeded down the lavishly decorated halls of Castle Krakenburg.  
  
With a nod, Marx motioned for everyone to fall in behind him, and proceeded into the throne room. Jophiel, of course, followed without protest or comment. He was still overwhelmed enough by everything that he was simply largely rolling with events as they came as unthinkingly as was possible. The less he had to consider what was happening, the better.  
  
Kamui, meanwhile, not being privy to her brother’s inner thoughts, could only feel a sharp pang of guilt as, to her eyes, her typically unerringly cheerful and sociable sibling continued to remain darkly and disturbingly withdrawn following his resurrection, and she was too cowardly to press the matter. The way he looked at her as if she were just another face in the crowd still being too much to bear.  
  
The small crowd of royalty and their retainers strode into the massive, almost cathedralesque throne room with a purpose. Jophiel could not help but find his eyes wandering as they approached the throne upon which sat a large, darkly armoured figure. As he glanced about, he found his gaze settling upon another, somehow even more shadowy figure standing off to the side of the room, seemingly observing the proceedings.  
  
The first thing which stood out was their face-obscuring helmet, the very image of death - [or perhaps more appropriately, _war_](https://cdn.discordapp.com/attachments/375542541363445760/678840443563409408/Apollyon.jpg) \- a blackened perforated ridged skull, excessively battle-worn as the pin-prick visored eyes followed the group intently. The second was their full plate armour worn over thick padding and chain, just as starkly black and battered by battle, accented by standards the colour of a yellowjacket: a black and yellow cape framing the oppressive figure - yet, the image was stark indeed in its recognizability. Even at a glance, Jophiel saw the resemblance to his own Dignified Veneer. This person who seemed to tower over everyone else in the room, standing off to the side was clearly a Lawbringer, one who looked to be even more of a weathered veteran than Gunter, based on the state of their steel.  
  
Though their eyes were not visible, Jophiel could swear that he felt them staring at him, meeting his gaze, following them like a great and terrible wolf. Strangely, the sensation elicited little emotion in him, when such an intimidating figure’s attention would surely be the sort of thing that at least disquieted all but the most hardened of men. He wasn’t sure why, but it simply failed to shake him. Perhaps he was, in fact, in shock, and hadn’t realized it? That would explain his relative lack of reaction to having arrived in the distinctly fantastical city of Windmire up to that point.  
  
Regardless, as they neared the throne, he found his eyes naturally drifting away to refocus on the emperor himself - the man who was apparently his own father.  
  
[The very image of Roman authority](https://cdn.discordapp.com/attachments/375542541363445760/678841183903940609/garon.jpg) sat atop a bleak, almost... _blatantly evil_ throne, somehow still tall and overbearing despite the position. A black breastplate shaped to resemble a bare masculine chest gilded in almost gaudy degrees of gold, a furious ebon scowl glared at the group from beneath the brim of a despotically darkened galea - a masked Roman helm hid the features of the man who proclaimed dictatorship of the lands of Nohr.  
  
He was flanked on either side by what must have been his Praetorian Guard, [clad in silvery gilded segmentata](https://cdn.discordapp.com/attachments/375542541363445760/678841779700629524/praetorian.jpg), argent skulls grinning at the royals and their retainers from beyond the glistening cheek guards of their near-on artistic helms of the same design as the emperor’s own.  
  
Marx came to a stop with a near-on militaristic stomp of his armoured foot on the velvety carpeted floors before the throne, his hand momentarily pressed over his heart before being cast forth in a distinctly Roman salute. “All hail the Emperor!” he declared, at which point the rest of the Nohrian royals followed suit, Jophiel and Kamui lagging behind by mere milliseconds. “Father, we have answered your summons, Jophiel and Kamui stand before you just as commanded - ready and eager to prove their willingness to serve our great Dusk Empire of Nohr!”  
  
Several moments passed in an outright oppressive silence, the Emperor’s gaze remaining fixed on Marx for an uncomfortably long while before almost lazily drifting towards the displaced Canadian and fae-like half-Asian that were his apparent children. The empty eyes which served as the visor of the mask almost seemed to devour all light fixated on them, nothing but blackness visible beyond the helmet.  
  
Something inside of Jophiel quivered at the sight. Something about it was… wrong. Off. Just… _wrong_. It took a fair amount of effort to maintain his composure over the withering gaze, but somehow, he held true.  
  
Eventually, Emperor Alexander Garon de Nohr rose to his feet, revealing his full height of near-on six and a half feet as he loomed over everyone present, particularly the servants in the royal retinue who had all taken knees before their all-powerful ruler. He stood, continuing to stare at the pair before he finally spoke in a deep, reverberating voice that could only be described as tyrannical. “Kamui and Jophiel,” he started, seeming to test the names on his tongue from beneath his all-encompassing helm as he did so. “The time has come for you to prove yourselves worthy of service to Nohr. Come,” he said, making a harsh gesture with his head for them to approach. “Your father has graciously prepared gifts to aid you in your trials to come - gifts which clearly, you will desperately require.”  
  
A shiver ran up Jophiel’s spine, and, with no small amount of hesitation, he took a step forward, accompanied shortly by Kamui, who was somehow even more hesitant than he. Jophiel wasn’t sure precisely what was to follow, but something told him that he could be sure of one thing: he and Kamui were about to have a bad time.


	8. Armour of Steel, Heart of Stone

As the siblings approached the throne, Garon’s eye looked them over quite critically. The voids which could be charitably described as something akin to eyes seeming to fixate on them each at once.  
  
They both stopped at what looked to be the designated spot and stood at attention. The emperor allowed silence to hang uncomfortably for several long moments before he brought his hand up, gesturing with a minute movement of his fingers, a motion which heralded a number of legionaries marching up to the despot, each carrying an incredibly impressive set of weapons.  
  
First, a halberd, a full head longer than Jophiel was tall - the axe blade polished to an incredible mirror sheen, inscribed with what almost looked like cursive runes, downright artful in their presentation, they must have been painstaking to inscribe so flawlessly. The spearhead was just as finely made - lacking in decoration but instead flushed an icy blue hue. Set on the shaft, at the juncture between the true and the false bits of the axe was a small circular gem of the same tone, accompanied by a lizard-like sculpture set in silver around it. The shaft was the same colouration as the jewels, metallic and trimmed in argent regalia.  
  
“[Frozen Lacerta](https://cdn.discordapp.com/attachments/375542541363445760/746155027772473354/frozen-lacerta.jpg),” Garon’s voice echoed out across the chamber matter-of-factly, in an almost bored, dismissive tone. One of two gifts from the Glacé tribe, to demonstrate their eternal subservience to the majesty of Nohr, they have forged and enchanted this ice-bound polearm specifically for your use, Jophiel.” He motioned for the legionary carrying it to present it to the prince. “See to it that you make the most of its ability to cruelly freeze solid still living flesh to terrorize the enemies of Nohr into uncompromising compliance.”  
  
Jophiel had to fight to keep his composure as the weapon was presented to him. It was well and truly a masterwork - an absolutely gorgeous thing to behold, but his mind was elsewhere… Garon, his apparent father… wasn’t even _trying_ to not sound like a complete monster. Encouraging him to _torment_ their enemies using it so openly… what in the actual _fuck_?  
  
“Kamui,” the Dusk emperor continued, utterly unperturbed by the prince’s thoughts. “[Frigid Gilt](https://cdn.discordapp.com/attachments/375542541363445760/746155035712553081/frigid-gilt.jpg). A short sword in the style of our Imperial gladii with powers identical to your brother’s own Frozen Lacerta, and his retainer’s Ice Dragon.”  
  
Jophiel’s attention was momentarily captured again, this time, by the ice-blue gladius which was brought forth and presented to the raven-haired girl. The nigh-ethereal colouration ran the entire length of the weapon, almost shimmering hypnotically as it caught the ambient light of the room brilliantly. The blade was trimmed in yet more silver - the base inlaid with a diamond-shaped deep blue sapphire on either side of the flat, and a pair of massive ice blue heart-shaped gems on the guard. The entire hilt was the very same colour as the blade and guard, and at a glance, might even have been the very same material from acute tip to wheel-shaped pommel.  
  
Kamui accepted the sword with grace, far more than Jophiel had shown, to be sure. “I shall strive to bring honour and glory by the tip and edge of its blade, father,” she pledged with a steely gaze.  
  
Garon held her stare for a moment before nodding in what seemed to be approval. “And you shall do so not only with a memento of subservience, but a weapon forged within the dusk-draped heart of Nohr itself,” he asserted before yet another legionary stepped forward, carrying what looked to be yet another short sword, although…  
  
For a moment, Jophiel felt an almost primal pang of fear at the sight of the weapon, his entire form locked up and did not respond to any commands… how incredibly appropriate, considering the visage which snarled out at the world around it from the sword’s guard. While Frigid Gilt had been a gladius, this was instead a sica - a double-edged curved short sword of the same era which came to an extremely acute thrusting point.  
  
What truly stood out about it, however, beyond the tar-black blade and gilded true edge, even the fish spine-like sawtooth false edge, was the solid gold gorgon face inset with two ruby eyes grouped with a third in the forehead, like some twisted mockery of a Hindu third eye. A pair of snakes seemed to grow out like quillons, twisted around back to the hilt as if to strike at the wielder themselves. There was practically no pommel on the thing, and the hilt was lacking in anything to allow for a truly secure grip; one poorly-considered swing and it would go flying…  
  
Needless to say, it looked to be an incredibly dangerous weapon, and not just for the intended target of its user’s ire.  
  
“[Venomous Gaze](https://cdn.discordapp.com/attachments/375542541363445760/746157802237722734/venomous-gaze.jpg),” Garon started, his voice practically dripping with what sounded like genuine affection and pride as he actually reached out and ran his gloved fingertips along the length of the blade with pleasure, in stark contrast to the barely-masked contempt he had displayed for the foreign-made Frigid Gilt and Frozen Lacerta. “The gilded edge will bring a terrible, lancing pain upon the body of those it cuts into; like a corrosive venom coursing through one’s veins. The barbed sawing edge will sap a victim of their very life force, draining it and infusing into your own reserves, granting you yet more vigour with which to inflict ruin upon those that would make the mistake of standing against the might of Nohr.”  
  
Finally, his fingers rose from the inky black of the blade and swooped over Kamui in an almost theatrical manner.  
  
“Take this fine example of Nohrian craftsmanship, daughter. Put it to great and terrible use against Nohr’s enemies.”  
  
There was the briefest moment of hesitation on Kamui’s part, a visible horror at the emperor’s encouragement of inflicting outright torture clear and present just long enough for Jophiel to notice as he gazed at her.  
  
“-I am unworthy of such a magnificent gift, father,” she said even as she took the sword in her remaining free hand, her voice confident and cool. “I shall do all within my power to bring victory and glory to our empire with this blade.”  
  
It seemed that she was quite capable of suppressing her gut reaction to visceral horror and had a good poker face. Jophiel hated the fact that this would likely prove extraordinarily useful in the days to follow in their service to Nohr.  
  
“You had better,” was Garon’s cool response. “Much the same applies to you as well, Jophiel. Your lack of enthusiasm has been noted. I expect equal parts of the devotion your sister shows to our nation out of you, whether you care for our methods or not.”  
  
He bit back his grimace, tore it down by the back of its collar and stabbed it until it stopped moving. Garon was a cruel tyrant, that much was clear, and Jophiel had the man’s direct attention and the burden of expectation put upon him. He needed to stay calm, keep his goddamn mouth shut, and to do as he was told for now. “I understand, father. All that oppose Nohr will live only long enough to spend their final agonizing moments in bitter regret.”  
  
Garon simply hummed at that. He probably knew that Jophiel was only saying what he thought the masked overlord wanted to hear… but that was probably enough for him. To know that the princeling was kowtowing to his dominance. It made the young man sick to his stomach, but… he had to just focus on the now, on surviving. He could make sense of it all later.  
  
“Now that these formalities are over and done with,” Garon started, turning and moving to reclaim his terrible throne. “The time has come for you both to prove your devotion to Nohr.”  
  
Surely, this could only be something good-  
  
“Legionaries!” the man in the obsidian armour bellowed out. “Bring the Hoshidan prisoners before your emperor!”  
  
The displaced Canadian felt his stomach drop like an anchor. Somehow, he already knew where this was going.  
  
With a cacophony of heavy footsteps, the soldiers did as commanded, briefly disappearing into the hallway by which Marx and the others had entered, before returning with a distinctive, highly out-of-place pair in tow.  
  
A fucking _samurai_ and a half-naked woman wearing an _oni mask_ atop her head.  
  
The two were shoved and dragged along, muttering, cursing under their breath all the while, the distinct sound of… wood clanking against wood? The floors were made of marble and they were walking atop a carpet, not to mention that the armoured samurai was wearing what looked like woven sandals. The woman wasn’t wearing enough to create such a sound, to begin with, so where-  
  
With a sudden and harsh grunt, the samurai was shoved to his knees in the middle of the court, his eyes practically slit, seeming to take in everything around him, calculating… the woman with the oni mask was shoved- and remained firmly planted on her feet.  
  
The legionary behind her stepped forth and placed both hands on her shoulders and _pushed_ again… she barely budged a centimetre, simply turning and looking back over her shoulder at him with a bemused grin.  
  
It was quickly apparent why she couldn’t be made to kneel. With nothing but the bare minimum of a sarashi - effectively a bandage wrapped around the chest to bind a woman’s breasts to protect her modesty, precious little was left to the imagination. She was toned- no, ripped- no, absolutely, positively _shredded_ ; pure, raw, rippling muscle barely contained by a layer of dusky skin, abs that would make the most dedicated of male bodybuilders weep with envy, biceps that looked to be comprised of suspension bridge cable. Impossibly tightly coiled, practically radiating pure physical power.  
  
Though he could not tell what she looked like from the waist down due to the loosely-fitted white hakama she wore tucked into her leather boots, it didn’t take a genius to figure that her thighs were probably steely enough to crush a cinder block between them.  
  
It was going to take a lot more than one lone legionary to force her to her knees.  
  
The samurai turned, noticed her rebellion, and hissed at her. “ _Rinkah!_ ” he urged the woman, who redirected her smouldering crimson gaze unto him, her loose, sporty-cut platinum blonde hair swaying somewhat before she rolled her eyes and complied with the legionary’s will, dropping to her knees just as the samurai had.  
  
The woman who could have fooled Jophiel into believing she was a flesh-and-blood oni were it not for her lack of horns demanded less attention, now that she was brought low to the ground before the guardsmen surrounding her. As a consequence, the young prince found his gaze wandering to the samurai.  
  
Fair-skinned and handsome in a noble, refined way, not entirely unlike Marx. Hints of desaturated _green_ locks peeking out past his helmet. He was armoured in the do-maru style, strips of metal not entirely dissimilar to the Romanesque segmentata the legionaries of Nohr seemed to favour. His plated forearms featuring short iron blades embedded into wood backing, of all things.  
  
A plain bronze kabuto rested atop his head, bearing nothing in the way of ornamentation, much like his armour; not even a simple crest adorning it. Though a samurai, he couldn’t have been very high status, given the crude, downright utilitarian nature of his protection. Not to mention the rough, borderline threadbare nature of his black and violet clothing beneath the plating-  
  
Jophiel blinked. He leaned in, squinted, and his jaw damn near hit the floor once he noticed it. The samurai’s armour wasn’t made from interlaced iron strips as he’d have expected from Japanese armour. It was made of [_wooden panels_](https://cdn.discordapp.com/attachments/375542541363445760/746153202549784707/hagane_2435.jpg) _._  
  
On Earth, that was an infuriatingly common myth about the samurai - that they wore wooden armour despite the Japanese having been perfectly capable of forging basic iron plates more than sufficient to serve as armour. It was dumb, the result of ignorance on the subject matter and nothing more. Considering that, to actually _see_ a samurai wearing bonafide wooden fucking armour…  
  
Part of him, the historical arms and armour enthusiast wanted to charge forward and throttle the man while decrying him for perpetuating a stupid myth so shamelessly. The rational part of him screamed from the rooftops that this wasn’t Earth and that he shouldn’t hold this world’s cultures to the same standards as his own with such a narrow view of the full picture. The rational part won out in the end, but by god that didn’t mean he had to _like_ it.  
  
“It almost brings you to tears born of pity, does it not?” Garon started suddenly. Jophiel turned on his heel to find the despot looking right at him, addressing him directly. “The Dawn Empire of Hoshido… those who call themselves ‘the Chosen,’ so backwards, so destitute, so _primitive_ that they wear raw planks into battle like the barbarians of a long-forgotten history.”  
  
He let out a low, amused chuckle.  
  
“Such armour is so very pathetic that stripping a Hoshidan _sam-u-rai_ ,” he phonetically drawled out the word like it was utterly foreign to his tongue, “serves little purpose. That sorry excuse for ‘plating’ would scarcely turn an improperly-tempered pugio point in the heat of battle. What could it possibly hope to do against the adamant iron of an imperial gladius or the keen point of a thrown pila?”  
  
A rhetorical question, obviously.  
  
“That is how far beneath us these sorry excuses for people are, child. While we construct magnificent altars of obsidian and marble to our god, while we garb each man sworn to serve as an arm of our legions in nought but the finest iron and bronze… these backwoods swamp-dwellers squat in pathetic little dwellings of wood and paper, ‘armouring’ themselves in the same barbaric and uncultured materials.”  
  
The Dusk emperor leaned back on his throne almost casually as he regarded the two Hoshidan warriors before him.  
  
“You have forgotten much, but do well to internalize and remember this, Jophiel: we are better than these uncultured barbarians in every conceivable way. And this test to follow is undeniable evidence of that.”  
  
Jophiel blinked, then remembered… the bastard was aiming to make him and Kamui execute these two, wasn’t he? As if that would prove a damned thing beyond how barbaric _Nohr_ was.  
  
Not to mention that entire rant about Hoshido being primitive… that armour, though made of wood, was anything but _primitive_. Real craftsmanship had visibly gone into it, even if it was utilitarian craftsmanship in this case. And the helmet was actually metal… in fact, the outermost panels of wood were banded in bronze upon closer inspection.  
  
This kit was the consequence of circumstance, a lack of materials rather than a lack of skill. It had to be. That was hardly something which could be held against the Hoshidans-  
  
Again, the alleged prince found himself blinking. Again, the samurai was the cause. This time, however, was brought about by the look the samurai was giving him. The open-mouthed, utterly dumbstruck shock of plain and obvious recognition… a look he was also giving Kamui. His purple eyes practically bulged out of their sockets.  
  
The oni-warrior had been allowing her eyes to wander wherever they pleased, looking bored with the situation. That quickly changed when they drifted over the samurai, followed his line of sight, and she immediately did a double-take upon settling her gaze, again, on Jophiel and Kamui.  
  
...Why? The pair were staring in open shock, but Jophiel couldn’t figure the _why_ of it-  
  
Then he remembered that he and Kamui were fucking _elves_.  
  
What in the actual fuck _was_ the deal with that? Was Garon hiding a pair of sharply jutting ears beneath his fully-enclosed helmet? Was the rest of the royal family the result of consorting with a human woman? Where Marx, Camilla, Leo and Elise half-elves?  
  
He didn’t know, and unless the savage emperor did him the favour of popping off his helmet, there was no surefire way to find out right now.  
  
At any rate… that was more than likely why. Jophiel did not like thinking about how he looked now, but it wasn’t dissimilar to Kamui, who was downright _fae_ in her countenance, and he’d seen absolutely no other examples of elves since leaving the Northern Fortress… and he just recalled that he’d wondered if Hoshido was composed of elven samurai back then. A theory now rather thoroughly dashed by the sight of the rather human samurai and oni warrior kneeling before him.  
  
He supposed only time would tell what the deal behind him and Kamui’s otherworldly appearance was.  
  
A low chuckle reverberated throughout the hall. Garon was staring right at the Hoshidans and laughing again. “Now, as entertaining as it is to gawk at primitives… It is time that we move onto business. Legionaries! Arm the heathen followers of the Dawn Dragon!”  
  
Before Jophiel could begin to process what he’d just heard, a loud metallic clang and a deep wooden bang echoed throughout the throne room. A katana - a Japanese sword - and a kabuto - a type of massive Japanese war club - were thrown at the feet of the samurai and oni-warrior woman respectively.  
  
Immediately following, the legionaries backed off and formed a circular shield wall around the royals and the Hoshidan warriors. The Asiatic man and woman, after a moment, shared a _horrified_ look as their eyes snapped between each other and their apparent weapons.  
  
“Jophiel Corrin de Nohr! Kamui Unmei de Nohr!” Garon commanded in a deep, tyrannical declaration that echoed throughout the chamber, but more so, throughout Jophiel and Kamui’s heads. “Best these Hoshidans before the judging eyes of your emperor! _Prove your worth to the Dusk Empire of Nohr through merit; trial by combat!”_  
  
A moment of silence followed. The Hoshidans looked at Jophiel and Kamui. Jophiel and Kamui looked at the Hoshidans. The siblings looked at each other and actually processed what had just been declared.  
  
Jophiel was eloquent in his brevity.  
  
“ _Fuck_.”


	9. Conviction

A long silence followed, Kamui’s gaze flicked between her brother and the Hoshidans. In a half-panic, she gazed over the heads of the legionaries that had formed a shield wall around them, searching for Xander, Camilla, their siblings. She found them, and… saw only a grim acceptance on Xander’s face. Camilla grimaced but made no move to interfere. Leo’s expression betrayed no strong feelings on the matter, and Elise, what little could be seen of her, at least, looked distraught as Camilla visibly held her back and cooed to the youngest sibling.  
  
This… was truly happening. Nobody was going to interject, to protest. She and Corrin were being made to fight these Hoshidan warriors... with _real weapons_.  
  
This was… this was too much. How could so much be demanded of them so soon? They weren’t soldiers, they’d never even been in a true battle before, and now, with so little warning, they were expected to… to… _kill_ these people?  
  
“Kamui,” Corrin started up beside her in a low voice, so that only she could hear, lifting his helmet and setting it upon his head, visor open. “We were not ordered to _kill_ them,” was all he stated before the featureless metal faceplate swung closed, snapping shut an instant before it was latched down securely.  
  
...He was right. Father had said to _best_ the Hoshidans.  
  
With a resolved nod, the young woman took Venomous Gaze and Frigid Gilt, rose them over her shoulders and positioned them over her back. A short incantation followed, and the weapons were secured in place with a simple magic spell. They were each far too deadly with their enchantments to risk here and now. Instead, she would rely upon her simple, but ever-trusty gladius. It would hold true, and not risk a magically magnified injury if she was forced to wound with it.  
  
Mercifully, Xander had taught her to disarm opponents previously. She would only need to concentrate, fight as keenly as she could. Nobody had to die: she and Corrin simply had to fight valiantly and with purpose. She nodded and stepped forth with her brother.  
  
The entire time, Jophiel wondered if he and Kamui would actually be able to get out of committing murder on a technicality of Garon’s wording.  
  
The Hoshidans had shared a look, muttered quickly and quietly to each other, then rose to their feet, weapons in hand. The armoured warrior - what Kamui recognized from written tales and the word of legionaries who had fought near and in Hoshido as an orochi - a samurai trained in the arts of the mythical shinobi - stepped forth and held his katana before him; either of his two violet eyes peering past the length of the blade.  
  
The woman, who the princess also recognized as a shugoki - a warrior said to fight with the might and fury of an oni - made a show of dragging her mighty kanabo behind her as she sized Corrin up almost lethargically. With a single hand, she twirled the thing that border lined on being a small tree with a handle on it from the ground and settled it on her exceedingly powerful shoulder.  
  
The club had to weigh an enormous amount, yet the shugoki handled it as if it were a twig, her chiselled physique visibly flexing and undulating with each movement. She was, despite her apparent disinterest with the situation, showing off. She wanted everybody in the room to know that she was likely the most physically powerful person present.  
  
...Or, at least, that is what she thought. The shugoki had never seen Corrin’s physique, nor Gunter’s. If anyone was her equal in terms of raw might, it was them. Or perhaps the woman did, in fact, know that. Perhaps she wasn’t so much attempting to intimidate as she was challenging her brother to display his own prowess.  
  
Corrin simply stood at the ready, Frozen Lacerta held in a questionable high ready position, making absolutely no move to show off his musculature as the woman did. The disappointed frown she wore on her face betrayed her intent - she had indeed been trying to invite a competition between the two, though Corrin was clearly having none of it.  
  
Of all the times to attempt posturing like a peacock…  
  
Shaking her head, the Nohrian royal refocused her attention on the orochi, who stood at the ready, his eyes intensely focused on the young woman. As worried as she was for her brother, Kamui had to focus and simply trust that he would handle his half of this brawl. So, with that in mind, she focused and stared…  
  
...And immediately noticed something _off_ about the samurai. The way he was holding his sword, the way he was standing… his hands were too far apart, his back too heavily arched, his footwork sloppy, wouldn’t properly anchor him to the ground. Orochi… were supposed to be among the best swordsmen in Hoshido, second perhaps only to the kensei.  
  
This man gave every indication that he was only trying to _look_ like he knew what he was doing at a glance. A trap? Was he trying to mislead her into lowering her guard, not taking him seriously?  
  
...Where were his clan symbols? Were samurai not supposed to bear clan symbols on their equipment? What was this? Had the tales she’d read and heard been gross exaggerations?  
  
Regardless, the orochi took a step towards her, and Kamui realized this wasn’t the time to be focusing on such details. She needed to focus. She needed to _win_.  
  
\---  
  
Jophiel glared out past the eye slits of his visored helm, his breath heavy and hot as it rebounded back upon his own face, the oni-warrior had dropped into a low readied position, grinning cockily, inviting him to attack first as he waited with her foremost arm cocked and locked, holding for the moment he charged and bolted into her weapon’s range.  
  
His halberd, unfortunately, was considerably longer than her kanabo. Sliding a hand down along the shaft of the polearm, he wound up and prepared to swing the weapon; aiming to strike her with the flat of the head. He’d rather break something than kill her outright, which would be all too easy with her complete lack of armouring. He swung the weapon with a grunt-  
  
 _“Kurae!”_  
  
His eyes widened the woman lurched forward, dropping the great club as she did so, straight-up football tackling him in the midsection to the ground with two loud metallic clangs and a yelp of surprise. His weapon had been dropped when she collided with him.  
  
He’d telegraphed his attack _like a fucking moron-_ **focus!** His mind screamed at him, and quickly enough, he wrapped his arms around the woman’s head and rolled. He wasn’t a trained grappler by any means, but even he knew that being mounted on the ground was just about the last place one wanted to be in a brawl, so-  
  
His eyes widened as the woman reached up, placed a palm on his chest, and _shoved_ with enough force to launch him off of her, actually soaring off and slamming into the ground again in an _extremely_ disorienting manner. Before he could even begin to process the amount of raw strength that would have required, she was upon him again, wrapping her arms around his midsection and, with her legs and back, hefting him up into _another_ full-body throw.  
  
Jophiel went flying again, but this time caught himself mid-roll upon hitting the ground and braced himself against the woman’s charge. The two collided, and grasped at each other’s shoulders, leaning into the other and pushing with all their might. Neither moved, even as their bodies trembled with exertion, sweat forming and falling from their brows, the pair were locked in place, two seemingly unstoppable forces having rammed headlong into each other to form a single immovable object.  
  
The woman pressed her forehead against the visor of Jophiel’s Dignified Veneer, a wide, savage grin on her face as she stared right into the slits. She was _very much_ enjoying this little impromptu wrestling match.  
  
 _“Jinjou ni shoubu,”_ she growled past her entertained grin in Japanese which he, of course, could not understand.  
  
So, rather than reply vocally, he instead, upon spotting Frozen Lacerta out of the corner of his eye, feinted a throw in the opposite direction. She committed into leaning against it and was consequently horribly off-balanced against his actual intended directional toss. To her credit, she managed to keep a firm hold of his pauldrons, and so they both went tumbling.  
  
As they rolled, he brought his head back and slammed the visor of his helmet into her face, eliciting a pained yelp as she let go, and he kept going. Lunging out for his halberd, Jophiel grabbed it, and quickly as he could, brought it about before the woman could recover from the steel-backed headbutt, and he stopped just short of thrusting the spear point into her throat from his kneeling position astride her.  
  
Her eyes snapped open, and even more quickly snapped onto the weapon held at her neck. _“Mada mada,”_ she chuckled as she flopped bonelessly onto her back, seemingly having accepted her defeat.  
  
From his position, Jophiel watched as Kamui side-stepped a poorly-coordinated sword swing, and cried out “Spark!”  
  
The samurai kept going, letting out a reverberating yell as he careened forward onto the ground, his sword sparking with electricity as his entire body spasmed uncontrollably. An instant passed before Kamui placed one of her barely-covered feet onto the katana and kicked it back towards the legionaries surrounding them, keeping her gladius pointed at the man as he regained control of his body, and seemed to accept his defeat at the hands of the Nohrian princess.  
  
And so, the Hoshidans lay bested, at the mercy of the two young would-be warriors. Silence hung in the air as Marx and Camilla looking increasingly tense, glancing between the two and Garon even as they stepped towards the shield wall.  
  
The silence continued, and eventually, the emperor broke it. “I was wondering how you two would handle my command,” he started as he remained seated, looking on the proceedings almost lazily. “How pleasant a surprise to see that you two are more intelligent than the average plebian and picked up upon my very particular orders.”  
  
“F-father?” Marx stepped forth, looking thoroughly disconcerted and unsure of what was happening.  
  
“I gave your siblings the command to _best_ the Hoshidans. Never did I order them to _kill_ the prisoners,” he declared with a hearty chuckle. “You two have passed the first test. I do not tolerate fools who cannot intelligently interpret orders, and it is pleasing to know that I can expect you two to construe commands given with a modicum of wisdom.”  
  
Jophiel blinked. Had… wait, holy shit, this is what Garon _wanted?_ Then… he blinked again. Maybe, just maybe… maybe he wasn’t the unreasonable despot he initially seemed? Maybe-  
  
“Now that I know you two can be trusted to receive and regard orders intelligently, it is time to move on to the next test; to determine if you each will follow plain and obvious orders without hesitation,” the Dusk emperor sat up straight in his seat before continuing. “Execute the prisoners.”  
  
...Of course. _Because of fucking course,_  
  
Jophiel redirected his gaze to the woman on the ground before him, held at his mercy… her face was hard, still, calm. A mask which failed to hide the fear visible in her crimson eyes, as she went too still, as she stared right back into his own red-rimmed pupils. She understood what Garon had just commanded him to do. She knew that she was at his mercy and that she could do nothing to stop this.  
  
It was wrong. She was a warrior, but she was still a human being - a person that wanted to live, that had friends and family, that had been taken from… taken from everything she knew. Brought to this awful empire, made to fight by its cruel overlord, and now… was being made to die by that cruel overlord.  
  
A long silence followed, until…  
  
“No.”  
  
The word came unprompted, but moreover, from someplace deep within he had never before found. It was a simple thing, but, at that moment, it felt like the truest expression of his heart he’d yet made, still staring down at the woman, whose expression softened ever-so-slightly, took on the smallest hint of surprise at his declaration.  
  
“...What was that?” Garon’s voice came low and deep.  
  
Jophiel tore his eyes from the warrior, rose… and found Kamui meeting his gaze. Staring, horror plain on her face, begging, pleading at him with her eyes. She didn’t know what to do. She didn’t want to follow through on these orders either.  
  
 _“No,”_ he repeated, rising to his feet, keeping his hands on his halberd as he did so.  
  
To hell with it. This wasn’t how he was going to live, murdering people at his mercy, those who could not defend themselves, by anything more than the word of a power-mad tyrant, clearly drunk on power. An abusive, monstrous animal that used his power to torment those beneath him.  
  
Dead silence reigned. All eyes in the court were on Jophiel, and he did not care. He stared right at Garon, made direct eye-to-void contact with the monster, standing tall.  
  
Several long moments passed before the Dusk emperor rose to his feet, the furious scowl of the mask covering his face seeming more appropriate than ever at that moment. He stared at Jophiel, and, suddenly, raised his hand, pointing at the raven-haired princess. “Kamui,” he bellowed, making the girl jump. “I have commanded you to execute the Hoshidan. You _will_ obey the word of your Emperor and father.”  
  
Her eyes widened like saucers, and her pupils became like pinpricks. They snapped to the samurai, then to her sword, and she started trembling uncontrollably, paralyzed with indecision.  
  
“Don’t,” Jophiel bellowed right back, though the command was directed at Kamui, who shifted her stare to him, wide-eyed with open terror.  
  
This was unacceptable. He would not allow this to continue, to end as the mad despot demanded.  
  
Garon let out a low, rumbling growl almost akin to a distant avalanche. “So, you lack the mettle to so what is necessary, tremble like a newborn foal at the most basic of commands?” he wondered aloud, staring at Jophiel the entire time. “I suppose it falls to me to remove these vile threats to our nation’s safety then, if your cowardice drives you to such _insolence_ ,” he breathed as he reached aside, taking a hold of a massive poleaxe as long as he was tall, [a jet black thing gilded in a fell gold and adorned with a gleaming skull](https://cdn.discordapp.com/attachments/375542541363445760/746155158349545473/obsidian-desire_900.jpg) before he took several steps forward, visibly fuming as he did so.  
  
The woman at Jophiel’s mercy had since redirected her gaze to the black-hearted emperor, eyes widening upon recognizing that he intended to finish her off himself until her view was blocked by a familiar set of blackened boots stepping in front of her.  
  
Silence again fell as Garon came to a dead stop, and horror stitched itself on the features of all present.  
  
Jophiel had placed himself between the woman and Garon. He was protecting her, standing against the ruler of Nohr to do so.  
  
 _“Jophiel!”_ Marx rushed forward, caught on the edge of the unwavering shield wall keeping himself and everyone else separated from the impromptu arena. _“Have you lost your mind!? Stand down, now!”_ Panic, open panic and terror were plain on his face.  
  
Jophiel understood why. He knew what his actions meant. He didn’t care. If this is what his second chance of life demanded of him, then damn this second life. He would not cross this line, and would not allow this prisoner to be executed for no good reason. He had chosen this hill, and now, he would god damn well die upon it.  
  
Garon’s chest rose and fell visibly despite his armour, his breath heavy and laboured, fury clear in his low, rumbling inhalations. Just as it seemed like he was about to make another move, a strange, bright, eldritch light shone out from behind the shield wall… and the Hoshidans were suddenly ensnared by great, winding roots that emerged from nowhere, entangling themselves around the man and woman, particularly around their necks, and _squeezing_.  
  
Without a second thought, Jophiel dropped to his knees and grasped at the roots around the woman’s neck, visibly strangling her as her face already started to turn red, eyes bulging and fixating on him. He tried to remove them, to tear them from her neck, but they did not budge a solitary centimetre, and seemed to tighten with each passing second-  
  
Two loud snaps erupted across the hall, and the warriors fell limp.  
  
A moment of silence followed as Jophiel stared at the now lifeless body he had been so ready to die defending. It was broken by a familiar voice. “I trust you are satisfied with the barbarians being put down, father?” Leon’s voice called out. The shield wall parted to reveal him standing there, a foul tome held in his hands, emitting a fel light as his free hand remained outstretched over the proceedings.  
  
“Mmmmm…” Garon let out a long, low growl before abruptly turning on his heel and marching back for his throne. “At least one of my children is not blinded by foolish xenophilia and is willing to do what must be done,” he proclaimed as he set the greataxe back where it had previously been resting, and settled himself back down on his seat. “Jophiel, Kamui,” he continued darkly. “Get out of my sight. And do not even dare think of leaving this castle. I will settle upon your punishment for this gross act of treasonous insubordination after consulting with the Senate and the Dusk Dragon.”  
  
The woman was just laying there, tangled in the roots that Leo had summoned, executed her with despite the fact that she was defeated and helpless. He hadn’t been able to stop it. Jophiel stared at her and felt his hands fall uselessly to his sides. He’d failed them. Both the woman and the samurai…  
  
 _“Do not make me repeat myself,”_ Garon growled from his throne. “Marx, Camilla, you will both remain and be present for this meeting!”  
  
The elder prince and princess froze up for a moment but offered no complaint as they nodded and remained right where they were.  
  
A brief moment passed before Jophiel felt a small hand tugging at the crook of his elbow. “Brother…” Kamui started. “We have to go, _now_ ,” she pressed as gently as she could.  
  
He allowed himself to be drawn to his feet and guided away from the body. He’d resolved, he’d resolved to protect those two with his life, then…  
  
Quickly enough, the pair were standing in the hallway outside the throne room, eerily empty as it was.  
  
“...Brother…” Kamui started, still holding onto his arm. What could she tell him? She understood, even with his face obscured by that helm, how devastated he was by what had just happened… and how could he not be? Corrin, even now, was still such a kind-hearted soul. Someone who wished to protect those who could not protect themselves. How could that situation have turned out any other way? That was… that was so like him, that was exactly the sort of thing he’d have done. No matter how much it seemed like he’d been changed by his death and rebirth, at his core, he was still Corrin, her brother.  
  
Yet… she felt more distant than ever from him. At that moment, when he needed her perhaps more than ever before… she stood by, said nothing, did nothing. Perhaps... perhaps given the absolute fury father had displayed at his rebellion alone, it might have spelled their doom had she stood alongside him. But, then, right then and there, when it must have mattered the most… Corrin stood alone.  
  
She felt worthless. Like she didn’t deserve to be his sister.  
  
A number of footfalls came from behind them, and Leon’s voice came soon after. “I will explain my actions in time, and you two will understand and agree with them when that time comes… but it is not now.”  
  
Jophiel didn’t turn to him, didn’t acknowledge him, the monster that had just executed two helpless prisoners. He didn’t trust himself to not do something he wouldn’t live to regret if he did.  
  
“...We will talk later. For now, I must borrow your retainers for an important matter,” Leon said as he started off. “Until then, brother, sister.” At that, he departed, Felicia and Gunter following behind him, the little maid with far more hesitation than the mighty Lawbringer.  
  
Kamui released Jophiel’s arm and moved to follow them, stopping to give her elder brother a hesitant look. “...I’m sorry, but… I have to know. Please, be strong, Corrin,” she pleaded before running after Leo. She would make him talk, explain how he could have done something so awful with no hesitation, show no regret whatsoever. Both she and Jophiel deserved that much, damn his talk of waiting.  
  
And so, Jophiel was left alone in the hall. His emotions a mess of hatred, for himself, for Garon, for Leon, for the entirety of Nohr… this nation, these people, this was what they were, monsters. Unthinking animals that killed the helpless without hesitation, forced unbloodied young men and women to serve as executioners for their sick amusement. And for what? _For fucking what?_ There was no glory, no victory, no honour in these actions! Just…  
  
He trembled, fists clenching as he was left to do little other than stew in his own thoughts. It wasn’t fair, none of it was. He didn’t know what to do now…  
  
Several moments later, yet more footfalls, punctuated by plate approached from behind. Steady, calculated, and supremely confident. Jophiel could only imagine it was Marx, and he really didn’t want to talk to any of his supposed ‘siblings’ right then-  
  
[“Most curious,”](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=8b1qBuVnHAA&list=PLu6_FOgZp3ejXR0_ZbGguNbVu3cI3zagM&index=5&t=0s) an imminently unfamiliar woman’s voice broke the silence, that of a woman’s he very much did not recognize. “Never did I imagine I would find a man willing to stand not only against the word of their father, but their _emperor_ in this city, and with such… _conviction_.”  
  
He turned, and what he found gazing upon him was the Lawbringer in the deathly mask, staring right at him, eyes meeting his own and boring into his very soul.  
  
“You would have died there, stood against impossible odds, all to protect someone you saw as helpless, against the commands of your… _‘family,’_ ” she audibly placed the words in quotations, almost chuckling at the notion. “It is most amusing, is it not? How ‘family’ will profess to love, to care for each other so truly and thoroughly in times of calm, in peace… yet, so very often, the very moment strife comes, the instant discord finds its way into their midst, they reveal themselves to have been little other than a house of treacherous vipers all along.”  
  
The woman stepped forth, placing her arm across Jophiel’s shoulders with ease given that she was at least 6’1”, guiding him along, down the halls, deeper into the castle, away from prying eyes.  
  
“In the bright sunlight, they seem like good people, embracing each other, calling each other kin. But when night falls, when turmoil arrives, they do not hesitate for a single moment to pick sides, to turn their blades in on each other… because ‘family-’”  
  
“Is a load of shit,” he finished for the woman, feeling bile rising in his stomach as his words brought to mind memories of his past life. Of his own flesh-and-blood _‘family,’_ the screaming, the cursing, the fists and hatred. It meant fucking nothing, back then… or now. “Conviction is all that matters. Conviction is what will drive a person from hell and into the future- _their_ future. The future they _choose_ for themselves. The future they _make_ for themselves.”  
  
Yes, that is what got him out of that shithole he had spent so much of his life in. Conviction is what carried him forward. Conviction is what kept him from falling just as all of them had… and here, now… conviction is what would bring him from _this_ hellhole, into the future that _he_ _chose_ for himself.  
  
She stared at him through her helmet’s pin-prick visor, and, somehow, he could sense that she was smiling at him. “If it would not be too much of an imposition, young cub, my name is Apollyon, commander of the Blackstone Legion of Ashfeld. I would like to talk.”


	10. To Sow the Seeds

...Now would be the time for that, I suppose,” Jophiel said plainly in response to Apollyon’s statement.  
  
“Mmm,” the woman hummed, seeming to take an inordinate amount of pleasure in his openness to further discussion. “Tell me, young cub. What do you know of the Nohrian court?”  
  
“That Garon rules it, and that there’s a senate he confers with,” Jophiel responded simply enough.  
  
“Is that all?” Apollyon chuckled, allowing her arm to fall to her side again. “My oh, how little you know. Perhaps it would be best to start with the matter of your siblings and their role in the system.”  
  
The pale-skinned brunet perked up at that, turning to face the towering woman intently. This was information that he was very interested in.  
  
“You are aware that Nohr is nominally a meritocracy, at least, yes?” Apollyon asked as the pair idly drifted further down the halls, away from the well-lit senate foyer. “Such was the basis for the little ‘test’ the emperor had you undergo… well, rest assured, your siblings were all expected to ‘prove their worth’ just the same. Though, your experiences perhaps diverge, given that all of them passed with honours.”  
  
...Meaning they all, at some point, executed helpless prisoners of war. Jophiel felt his stomach churn, his blood boil. Murderers- wait, but, surely not all of them… “What of Elise?” he asked quietly, dreading the answer he might receive.  
  
“ _All_ of them,” came the towering, statuesque armoured woman’s simple response.  
  
Trepidation shifted to a low, roiling fury. Even her, _even the healer_...  
  
“It might please you to know that these burdens of expectation fall upon the royal family’s retainers as well,” Apollyon continued unabated. “There is not a single pampered noble amidst their ranks who has not _earned_ their position at the side of royalty. For example, your elder brother’s fine young lady of a retainer… why I have heard quite the multitude of stories of her accomplishments. It is said that she is a _remarkably_ skilled killer - in fact, I have heard that she has become so skilled by having started young, so to speak.”  
  
...This was too much, what she was suggested couldn’t be true-  
  
“Lady Peri of the Caligulus family. That is her name,” the woman pressed without missing a beat. “She is rather remarkably well-known, I needed only keep my ears open long enough to hear tales of her ‘deeds.’ Servants, for many years, have entered the employ of their household, ventured within to fulfill their newfound duties, and never again emerged to the public. Where the young lady treads, humble servants quake.”  
  
She turned to gaze directly at Jophiel, her expression unreadable behind her blackened helm.  
  
“You travel with a personal maid, do you not, young cub?”  
  
A long, incredibly tense silence followed that question. Felicia had been nothing but an accommodating sweetheart in the short time he’d known her, and already, the thought of any harm befalling her…  
  
“It is, perhaps nothing, however,” Apollyon shrugged. “Rumours are often just that, after all. The Crown Prince would surely be quick to allay any fears one might have on the matter, put it to rest, yes? He is, by his honour, bound to speak only truths, is he not?”  
  
“...Yes, a simple enough question with a simple enough answer,” Jophiel did not, in fact, know if Marx was honour-bound to never lie, but… it would be better to ask if this supposed serial killer might dwell near Felicia to any degree. He hoped, sincerely, that it was not the case. But, from all he’d seen of Nohr thus far…  
  
“Mm. Either way, We’d best not dwell overmuch exclusively on his highness. There are yet more siblings to discuss yet. Such as the fair crown princess. Lady Camilla - born of a concubine apart from her elder, much like the youngest princess and prince. An upstart woman renowned for her _uncompromising_ thirst for status. The princess’s mother was said to be terribly frightening in how easily the act of manipulation came to her. Making those surrounding her feel loved, cared for. Precious, even. Then, cast aside the moment they’d served their purpose.”  
  
“She was said to be cruel, downright vicious when her gentle mask came off - far from above utilizing assassins to create stepping stones to the throne, rewarding those that carried out her foul bidding most handsomely... How tragic that the upstart lady met such a terrible, unexpected end in the midst of her ascent to status and wealth. Accidents, however, do happen in the Nohrian court with considerable frequency.”  
  
Jophiel’s lips drew into a tight grimace beneath his helm. ...Camilla. She seemed almost motherly in how she would dote on him. How she would so brazenly glare daggers at the man that had apparently killed him, _when she knew Jophiel could see_.  
  
...It couldn’t be that bad, it just couldn’t-  
  
“It is rumoured that Princess Camilla, noted to be _so incredibly similar_ to her mother, employs a fellow wyvern-mounted retainer who bears a _striking_ resemblance to a once-infamous assassin, curiously enough,” Apollyon declared matter-of-factly with a shrug. “Apropos of nothing, of course. Just a mere rumour surely concocted from thin air- nothing worth dwelling on.”  
  
Because of course.  
  
Jophiel was grimacing outright by that point. Part of him wanted to denounce these assertions as obvious bullshit, but… _he had seen what Nohr was like_. Was it truly so outrageous an idea that the royalty would employ such scum for their own benefit, or even amusement? “...I suppose that next, you aim to tell me that Leon’s retainer is a liar and a thief,” he inquired.  
  
“Ah, I see that tale has reached your ears already,” Apollyon noted appraisingly.  
  
 _Because of fucking course_.  
  
“Niles, a known highwayman that once terrorized the country roads of Ashfeld, to be precise,” the woman continued. “I’d heard of his ‘antics’ myself even before leaving Ashfeld, in fact. He kidnapped and extorted many a citizen in the Scrublands. The Iron Legion in particular expended many resources attempting to chase down and destroy his merry band of misfits in his heyday. Many Wardens fell by his arrows and dagger. It was bad enough that the Lawbringers were poking their heads about, wondering if they ought to directly intervene.”  
  
She held her hand out, and made a wide, waving motion before continuing.  
  
“Then, one day, they simply vanished. No trace, no signs of where the gang had departed to… then, at some point, he was recognized by a dignitary he had once bound and ransomed to the commanders of the Regal Legion, serving alongside the youngest male Prince of the Nohrian court.”  
  
“...What happened next?” Jophiel asked, already sure that he wouldn’t care in the least for the answer he was to receive.  
  
“Why, nothing, of course,” Apollyon replied matter-of-factly. “As the personal retainer of Nohrian royalty, he had been given carte blanche amnesty - immunity from prosecution for his previous crimes, whatever they might be.”  
  
Quiet held for a few moments as the pair came to a stop, the metallic clink of their armour ceasing along with their movement. Jophiel took a deep breath before responding. “That’s it?”  
  
“That’s it,” Apollyon confirmed with a simple nod. “Such is the way of things in the Dusk Empire. Prove your worth, and nothing else matters - you become _untouchable_. Quite the deal, don’t you think?” She leaned in at that statement, staring into the ocular slits of Dignified Veneer, so much so that he could swear that he could see light reflecting off of her eyes through her pinprick visor. “And yet you spat on such an arrangement, stood in defiance of the natural order of things, stood in defence of your _enemy_.”  
  
Her head cocked to the side ever-so-slightly, genuine curiosity leaking into her voice.  
  
“ _Why?_ ” She asked.  
  
“Because it was the _right_ thing to do,” he replied without a moment’s hesitation. “Because I will _not_ be a part of a system that inflicts such vile cruelties upon those who cannot defend themselves. I will _not_ stand for such gross injustice, tolerating such _cowardly_ means and actions by the command of a _wretch_ that demands others dirty their hands for him,” though he spoke quietly, he did so with passion, with fire in his belly, his back straight and his eyes hardened. “Nohr is _vile_. I can see that now, and I will not be a part of the systems it seeks to perpetuate - I will _stand against_ them. I do not know how, or when, but God was my witness, I swear I _will_.”  
  
Apollyon stared. He could feel her eyes boring into him, deep into his soul, searching for the slightest, smallest hint of weakness, of cowardice. Any evidence of bluster, the words of a craven coward.  
  
He met her gaze unflinchingly. He had meant every word. Somehow, someway, he would free himself from the bondage of Nohr’s royal family and would stand against their villainy.  
  
“...A veritable shepherd in the making,” the Blackstone commander noted quietly, lowly, almost approvingly. “Where the flock roams, you would stand tall against encroaching threats. Against any menace, no matter how overwhelming, you would give your life - for that, in your heart, is your _duty_.”  
  
Protecting the people from the predators that would prey upon them… yes, that seemed like a worthy cause - far more so than _this_. “It is,” Jophiel replied plainly, truly.  
  
Apollyon was silent for a time, eventually, nodding at him. “You are a Warden in spirit, it seems. The sort that would swear an oath to take up arms, to shield the frail behind plate and mail. And through demonstration, the type who _holds true_ to your vows.” She raised a hand, and planted it on his shoulder, firmly grasping it as she continued. “So rare is the individual that would truly hold strong in their convictions even against overwhelming odds…”  
  
Her voice, which had been steely, sharp as obsidian softened for a moment before continuing as strong as ever.  
  
“I currently have your father’s ear - I will do all I may to affect his judgement upon you. Execution by the axehead of mindless sheep who do little but bray in belligerence as they present themselves as great and mighty, withering away in inaction as those beneath them suffer for their arrogance… no, that would not do at all,” she shook her head pointedly before resuming. “I shall do what I can to earn you your chance to break free and carve a path forward - as a lone wolf braving the unforgiving unknown, just as our kind always have, and always will.”  
  
Jophiel’s eyes widened. She… she’d been testing him. She wanted to see how he felt about Nohr, and now that she knew… perhaps the Legions of Ashfeld were far less pleased with the Empire than Leon had attempted to suggest-  
  
...They wouldn’t be. The Wardens, and the Holy Order of Balaur - both had been previously mentioned. Knights that protected the weak, fought barbarians and villains in equal measure for the sake of the many.  
  
Yes. Ashfeld. Beyond the Northern Fortress, across the Ignis River - either order, he would have to find his way to them. And perhaps… he might just find a purpose worth fighting for.  
  
“...Thank you,” Jophiel said to the woman, earnestly. If she truly intended to help…  
  
“You are a noble beast, strong of will yet kept on a collar, chained and bound by the will of craven wretches that _should_ kneel beneath you, place themselves at your mercy and give thanks for your unceasing protection,” Apollyon asserted, placing both of her hands on his shoulders, holding him momentarily as she spoke with genuine delight in her voice. “How could I _not_ do all that I can to see you set free?”  
  
He sincerely didn’t know what to think. This knight saw fit to help him, wished to give him the chance to make a better life for himself…  
  
“ _When_ you find yourself free from the yolk of these languid vipers,” Apollyon continued, squeezing the man’s shoulders as she did so. “Know that the Blackstone Legion always has a place among its ranks for men and women who understand their place in the world, and possess an unshakeable conviction to set things right.”  
  
At that, he nodded. “I will.”  
  
“Good,” one could almost feel her smiling from behind her battered and beaten helm.  
  
“-rrin?” A familiar voice could be heard echoing around a now distant corner. “Corrin!” Kamui, seemingly searching for her sibling.  
  
Apollyon glanced up over his shoulder, then leaned back towards his face to speak closer to his ear in a hushed tone. “I am sure I was not the only one who noticed that when it mattered the most, _you stood alone_.”  
  
...Yes, he distinctly recalled how Kamui had done nothing to support him in the throne room.  
  
“Be careful of whom you expose your back to in this fortress of treachery,” the knightly commander continued in a conspiratorial tone. “It would be a truly horrid waste for you to perish before the chance to grow into a fully-fledged wolf finds you. I hope to meet you again in the field someday - to see your adamant conviction on full display where it matters most.”  
  
“Until then, young cub.”  
  
At that, she removed her hands from his shoulders, stepped around him, and began back the way they’d come. The distinct clatter of her plate could be heard for a long while, even as she strode past a surprised and confused Kamui.  
  
“...Corrin?” The ravenette started after the soft patter of her feet on carpet neared him, touching a hand to his armoured forearm. “Who was that?”  
  
“A knight of Ashfeld,” came Jophiel’s stern response, seeing little reason to entertain camaraderie with any of these vile Nohrians that pretended to care only so far as was convenient for them.  
  
Kamui felt her heart quiver in pain at his dark, unwelcoming tone… she had earned as much from him, though, hadn’t she? When he’d needed her more than ever before, she stood paralyzed by indecision. She should have been his companion then, ready to defend those poor defenceless Hoshidans just as he had been. But…  
  
How could she raise arms against her own family?  
  
“...We should retire to our rooms until we are summoned, brother,” the girl suggested in a hurt tone, not able to hide her pain at his cold treatment of her. “Father may not take well to finding us wandering after what happened.”  
  
“Indeed,” was all he intoned before he spun on his heel and began marching off, not giving her a second glance as he did so.  
  
Kamui remained where she stood for several long, crushing minutes, and her hands came up to cover her face. First, to be so harshly told off by Leo, nearly cursed out for ‘not listening’ to him… then, to be treated so coldly by the big brother that had been with her for as long as she could remember, her best friend and hero, who had been returned to her side by the Dusk Dragon’s mercy…  
  
Her lips trembled, and she could not stop the tears that fell from her cheeks.  
  
When had she become such a terrible sister, to earn her sibling’s ire so-?  
  
So lost was Kamui in her thoughts, she hadn’t heard the soft pitter-patter of rapidly nearing feet, and so jumped, startled as she felt a sudden weight around her neck. Golden locks and the scent of strawberries overtook her sight and smell.  
  
“I don’t know exactly why you’re so sad,” Elise’s voice emanated from below, muffled by Kamui’s chest, “I mean, I think I know, but… that doesn’t matter!” the little twin-tailed lady asserted. “Please don’t cry, big sis… y-you’re gonna make me c-cry too…!”  
  
The white-clad ravenette blinked and felt a small, still pained, but genuine smile find purchase on her features as she wrapped her arms around her little sister in turn.  
  
“What can I do to make you feel better?” Elise asked, craning her head up and gazing into her sibling’s crimson eyes forlornly. “The kitchens here stock _really_ sweet pastries and the library is so big - there are more books there than you could ever read! You really like that kinda stuff… come on, that’d make it stop hurting so much, right? I… I’ve never… _hurt_ anyone before, so I don’t really understand… but I hate seeing you so sad anyways!”  
  
The tiny girl wasn’t even sure what it was that had hurt Kamui so, and it didn’t matter either - making her elder sister happy again mattered more than anything. Kamui couldn’t help but smile widely at her little sister’s concern and unyielding love. “You’re already making me happy again, Elise,” she assured her with a gentle squeeze.  
  
Elise smiled up at Kamui, her childish face lighting up like the sun itself. “Yay! That’s good!” she declared happily. “I love you, big sis!”  
  
Kamui smiled happily in turn. “I love you too, Elise.”  
  
\---  
  
The sound of metal echoing off of marble rebounded off the walls and vaulted ceilings, though it was no bother to the woman that marched towards her next goal - garbed in steel, shielded head-to-toe in the plate of a former Lawbringer… every scrape, every creak, every metallic sound which reached her ears was unto the finest music ever composed - an ever-present reminder of her accomplishments, of what conviction could allow one to overcome against all odds.  
  
It had been so easy - almost casually so, to sow the seeds of distrust, of chaos amidst the fledgling Nohrian royals. Speaking in little other than half-truths presented as rumours was all it took. Just one, just the one was all she needed to speak to, to subvert… already, Apollyon could see it. She’d just stoked what was already there, hardly even applied the slightest bellows to the embers, and already, a flame of chaos burned.  
  
Prince Jophiel Corrin de Nohr. The man that would stand against his very own father, in defence of those he saw as helpless… an unquestionably foolish, naive notion - but one deserving of the utmost respect regardless. In that one moment, she had witnessed a conviction she’d thought impossible for most to achieve, so quick were the many to reveal themselves to be little other than sheep in wolves’ clothing.  
  
But there, beyond doubt, had stood a majestic wolf - so young, yet full of incredible promise even as an unbloodied cub.  
  
Once, she had heard proclamations of protection to commoners from a man encased in the blackened plate of a Lawbringer. Once, she had seen a man tuck his tail between his legs and shamelessly flee from his duty the very instant danger neared, abandoning those same commoners he had sworn to protect. Here again, she witnessed a man in a similar suit of plate stand tall, unflinching against his unquestionable death. Here, she witnessed a man stand unbreaking in defence of who should have been his _enemies_ because his convictions demanded he do so.  
  
“Curious,” Apollyon mused aloud. “Most curious.”  
  
Idly, she could not help but wonder just how these seeds would bloom - civil war? Revolution, perhaps a coup? Either way, she doubted that the young warrior would simply wither away when she wasn’t looking. No, she’d developed a sense for his kind - for _her_ kind. He was destined for greatness, and where great men rose, death followed inevitably. He would witness so-called villainy, and stand against it without hesitation.  
  
He was, perhaps, the ‘hero’ this world needed to lift yet more wolves from their slumber, to usher in a new age.  
  
He would rise, just as his conviction demanded of him, he would stir others to unite behind him - and in so doing, this poison called ‘peace’ would come to an end. Great warriors - _wolves_ would arise from the ashes, and belligerent sheep - the weak - would once again perish, or learn their place in the world - to be either prayed upon by wolves... or shepherded by wolves.  
  
She placed her hand on the door leading back to the Senate chambers, the emperor of Nohr already braying in fury beyond, the many unbloodied sheep that called themselves ‘senators’ scrambling to kiss his hooved feet and placate him without bloodshed.  
  
He thought her a fascinating curiosity - she, doubtless to her benefit, had his rapt attention for now. She would ensure the fledgling cub would persist a while yet, attain his chance to grow strong, earn his blade, and bear his teeth to those he deemed ‘villainous.’ She would see this ‘hero’ rise… then, in his wake… war would follow.  
  
Yes.  
  
War would come.  
  
Apollyon would have her Age of Wolves.


	11. Conspiracies and Complications

That night, Jophiel and Kamui were summoned back to the senate chambers. The elder of the two had remained in his armour, keeping even his visor closed as he proceeded. He’d taken Apollyon’s words to heart, and wouldn’t remove his bulwark unless commanded to at this point.  
  
Kamui remained quiet, not feeling confident to engage him again just yet. It only occurred to her at the last possible moment that this could be their last chance to speak if they were to be executed, but the senate doors were already creaking open by that point, so she could only hope that this wasn’t the end.  
  
Jophiel scanned the chambers, finding all the expected suspects - the legionaries, their treacherous siblings, and Apollyon herself, having returned to her previous spot off to the side.  
  
The two proceeded towards their previous spots before the Dusk Emperor’s throne and stood at attention before him.  
  
Unlike previously, where Garon had milked the oppressive, overbearing silence for all it was worth, he was very quick to address the pair this time. “By all rights, I should have the both of you executed for your treasonous insubordination… However, the counsel I have received on the matter has given me pause, and allowed me to see reason.”  
  
The ebon-plated despot gestured over the pair.  
  
“Rather than being killed for your insolence, you will both instead be given a single opportunity to redeem yourselves. There is a fortress held by the Hoshidians on the barbarian side of the Bottomless Canyon. You will both travel there, take command of a strike force, and claim the fortress for Nohr.”  
  
“Father,” Marx stepped forth, his armour clinking somewhat as he did so. “I will accompany-”  
  
“No, you will not,” he was pointedly cut off by the despot. “By my command, Alexander, Camilla, Leon, and Elise - not one of you will accompany Kamui and Jophiel on this assignment. They will manage this by their own wits and with little other than the men assigned to them along with their retainers.”  
  
He hadn’t taken his eyes off of Jophiel, in particular, the entire time and remained focused on him even as he continued to speak.  
  
“Through this assignment, you shall both win this strategic location for Nohr, and in so doing, your pardon for your treason, and by merit of your accomplishment, your place in the Nohrian army as junior officers… or you will perish in the attempt, and be interred in the royal catacombs with all the honours befitting royalty that perished in service to their nation.”  
  
As the tyrant spoke, the royal siblings all went pale - except Leon, whose nostrils flared ever-so-slightly as he remained steadfast and stern of expression.  
  
“You shall both depart at first light tomorrow,” Garon declared, evidently seeing no reason whatsoever to grant the pair any breathing room whatsoever. “You will be escorted to the staging area of the journey by my Praetorian Guard, and your assigned forces will converge there in turn. And just to ensure that we are perfectly clear on the matter… you shall both return victorious, _or upon your shields_.”  
  
He harshly gestured at the two with a shooing motion.  
  
“Now get out of my sight.”  
  
At that, a pair of the skull-masked Praetorians marched forth from their places at Garon’s side and moved to shepherd Jophiel and Kamui out of the chamber, presumably back to their rooms for the night.  
  
‘Upon your shields.’ An ancient Greco saying - the meaning was clear. Returning alive, but unsuccessful, was not on the table so far as Garon was concerned.  
  
Not that it mattered to Jophiel, after all...  
  
The elder of the pair made eye-contact with Apollyon as he turned, and she nodded at him ever-so-slightly. This was it. While they were marching towards ‘conquest,’ he would look for an escape. This was what the Blackstone commander could do for him… it would do. He would find his chance, and slip away, to Ashfeld. There, he would find a cause worth fighting for.  
  
This was, perhaps, not what he would have wanted out of a second chance at life, but… you play the hand you’re dealt.  
  
Meanwhile, entirely ignored by Jophiel despite having walked by his side this entire time, Kamui did her best to remain composed, to not let terror overtake her. She and Corrin would have to do this on their own - command men, besiege a fortress in enemy territory… she had always imagined that departing from the Northern Fortress would be the start of joy and happiness.  
  
In her mind’s eye, she’d always seen herself and Corrin spending afternoons lazing about Castle Krakenberg with Camilla and Elise, having hours drift by in the blink of an eye as they perused the royal library with Leo, learned all the finer details of social etiquette and swordsmanship from Xander before going to explore the streets of Windmire, seeing common children playing in the open, the smallfolk living their lives with happiness and joy…  
  
She had never imagined that she would long for the oppressive, gilded cage of the Northern Fortress and the simpler time it represented.  
  
This was not the carefree family life she had wished for.  
  
\---  
  
The night had passed in silence, Garon’s Praetorians had remained posted outside of Jophiel and Kamui’s rooms, and nobody had been allowed to see them before the morning came. Neither of the two had slept particularly well, but when the sun peeked over the horizon, they were all but driven to the castle courtyard regardless.  
  
Gathered there, formed up was a… a rather small configuration of men. Maybe eighty at the _most_. They were carrying and wearing only the most basic forms of armour and weaponry one might have expected to find among _levies_ \- conscripted peasants. Distressingly simple bronze helmets that covered little more than the top of the skull were the most common type of armour. Otherwise… simple wooden round shields and basic, bronze-tipped spears were all that was carried among them all.  
  
To put the cherry atop the cake, there wasn’t even so much as a single horse in sight. They were to cross the country _on foot_.  
  
Jophiel couldn’t help but balk at the sight… this was what they were expected to capture a _fortress_ with? It was painfully clear that Garon was _trying_ to get Kamui and himself killed - but he was having them march off into Hoshidan territory to do it-  
  
... _Of course_ he was. Two potentially problematic family members dying in combat for the glory of the empire would look _leagues_ better than being executed for treason. Fucking politicking bullshit. Though Jophiel supposed that he shouldn’t look a gift horse in the mouth in this regard - his chances of slipping away unseen partway to Hoshido were greater than his chances of surviving having his head chopped off here in Windmire.  
  
Perhaps it was lucky that Garon was granting Kamui and himself even this much after what they’d done. Apollyon must have been a miracle worker to talk him down from the fury they’d placed him in to begin with...  
  
His gaze drifted from the men that he and Kamui were to command, and to Felicia, who had shed her previous fetishistic short-skirted maid dress for hooded padding, bronze plating along her dominant arm, and chain beneath. [An impassive steel mask painted white from the nose down hanging on her hip](https://cdn.discordapp.com/attachments/375542541363445760/747554599048839298/tisiphone.jpg). She perked up at his eyes clearly falling on her, smiling in a strained, but seemingly genuine manner at him. He wondered if he would be able to convince her to flee with him. He had gathered that she’d been his personal maid since they were both young, apparently. He didn’t know how far her loyalty to Nohr went, however…  
  
No, too risky. It would be best to just escape on his own. For all he knew, she was under Garon’s thumb and was just waiting for him to make the wrong move in her presence, to give her an excuse to report on the ‘traitor.’  
  
Best to just play it safe so long as he was in Nohr, among Nohrians. He would find his way out of this - barring unforeseen complications arising, at least.  
  
When he turned away from the pinkish-blonde maid without a word, her smile wilted, and idly, Felicia wondered if she’d done something to slight Jophiel… she wasn’t sure what it could have been, but if he was unhappy enough with her to barely even acknowledge her like that… it was fine, though, she would make it up to him by doing her best to protect him when it came time to fight!  
  
That was right - that’s what she was trained for, after all! If Jophiel was mad at her now, she’d just earn back his goodwill out there, on the battlefield! She… might’ve hated actually fighting, but it was all she was good at, and Jophiel would need to be protected now more than ever, so it was perfect, really! She’d fight as hard as she could, and he’d stop being mad at her!  
  
With that thought, Felicia’s fair brow furrowed slightly as she nodded to herself with determination. The former Lawbringer flanking Jophiel’s opposite side gave the girl an aside glance out of the corner of his eye, but said little as he maintained his vigil.  
  
Kamui was focusing on her breathing, trying to not let the reality of their situation, the fact they’d not even been afforded the opportunity to speak with their siblings before departing get to her. It was all her loyal butler Jakob could do to stand by her side and hope his presence offered some measure of comfort.  
  
\---  
  
Well into the day, the, frankly, pathetic rag-tag unit that barely qualified as ‘military’ at all, mostly by virtue of Gunter’s presence, continued their march along the paved highway leading directly east from Windmire and towards the Bottomless Canyon - a massive natural border nestled within the mountains which lay between the territories of Nohr and Hoshido.  
  
There was a fair amount of commotion emanating from the apparently press-ganged watchmen, much talk and bickering about how this either wasn’t what they’d signed up for or that this was going to earn them a place in the proper military and the chance to earn glory for the empire. Otherwise, they were singing bawdy songs that the professional soldiers commanded by the Centurion they’d travelled to Windmire with would never have sung with ladies present.  
  
Amidst all of this, Kamui was sequestering herself away from Jophiel, and Gunter had started to slow his pace ever-so-slightly, reaching out and placing his arm just in front of Felicia so she had to slow down with him. Her brow started to furrow in concern the more distance was placed between them and their inattentive ward, and eventually, she spoke up. “Sir Gunter, what’re you doing? We’re supposed to stay close to Jophiel…”  
  
Granted, Jophiel was fully armoured and wielding the enchanted weapon her tribe had forged for him, but he was still basically helpless and she had to stay nearby to protect him in case anything happened.  
  
“You are aware that the Dusk Emperor is deliberately sending us all off to our deaths, yes, little Peacekeeper?” Gunter asked the young lady in a low voice, only just loud enough to be heard over the cacophony of the singing men.  
  
Her eyes widened at the inquiry, and her gaze swiftly drifted downwards, heavy with concern she’d previously not let show. After a few moments, her hand drifted upwards along the icy blue scabbard of her single-handed arming sword, [Ice Dragon](https://cdn.discordapp.com/attachments/375542541363445760/746155107959177276/ice-dragon.jpg) setting on the unnaturally cold pommel and gripping it tightly. “It doesn’t matter. I’ll protect Jophiel from anything, no matter what.”  
  
The ironclad figure hummed before responding. “I do not doubt your loyalty in the least, and while you may, in fact, be the single most dangerous individual in this ‘army,’ little Peacekeeper-”  
  
Felicia winced at that assertion, frowning as her grip on Ice Dragon slackened in distaste for only a moment before reaffirming itself.  
  
“-But even you could not turn the tide of a forty-strong force in open combat,” Gunter finished matter-of-factly.  
  
Felicia’s gaze drifted back up to the towering helmeted figure’s visor again, confusion plain on her soft face.  
  
“At least half of these boys are loyal to Nohr, girl,” he said, keeping his voice low - indeed, there was enough noise that she and the once-Lawbringer’s conversation ought to go entirely unnoticed so long as they spoke softly. “I had thought to take command of them all, redirect our course to the Agarthan Isle and bring our ward and his sibling away from this plainly obvious execution... though now I sense that bloodshed would follow were I to attempt such a thing.”  
  
He turned to look directly at Felicia and scoffed at her shocked expression.  
  
“I have no loyalty nor love for the Dusk Empire, girl. My allegiance is to my ward - that we have in common if nothing else. Though he is not truly one of our order, what better place for him to go than the Adamant Sanctuary of the Lawbringers? He has already received their blessing to be taught our ways, truly inducting him would be no great task on the shoulders of that fact.”  
  
“...W-would the Lawbringers really be willing to take Jophiel and Lady Kamui in like that?” Felicia asked, doing a poor job of hiding the budding hope in her tone. “That would be like spitting directly on the emperor - essentially a declaration of war, wouldn’t it?”  
  
“It is no secret that the Knightly Orders of Ashfeld have no love lost for Nohr,” Gunter shrugged his mighty shoulders. “War is inevitable - and the Lawbringers have no bonds of kinship to the Empire regardless. Adopting a runaway prince and princess disgraced for committing the sin of refusing to lower themselves to base sadism? I do not think that the Grand Court would turn their noses up at such a noble pretext for a defensive war. Least of all one we have already been readying ourselves to fight for years.”  
  
Felicia’s brow crinkled in thought for a few moments before she responded. “If… if you’re right, then yes, it might be best to travel to your people’s territory,” she nodded. “Though that would mean crossing the entirety of Ashfeld on foot, wouldn’t it?”  
  
“I earned much in the way of goodwill during my tenure as a Free Marshal operating in Ashfeld,” Gunter assured her. “Calling in favours to acquire horses and travelling rations from the various settlements peppering the countryside would be no great burden,” he chuckled heartily from within his all-encompassing helm. “Peasants and lords alike tend to remember when a mighty Lawbringer saved them from the buzzards and opportunists attracted by disorder and anarchy, and tend to be eager to curry the favour of a Fist of Justice regardless.”  
  
Felicia turned to gaze forward, at Jophiel, marching into the unknown with a purpose without a hint of the hesitation or discontent his sister displayed. He actually looked more than a little heroic, with Frozen Lacerta resting over his big armoured shoulder like that…  
  
She shook her head of such inappropriate thoughts and refocused on immediately pressing matters, such as his sister’s allegiance.  
  
“Sir Gunter,” Felicia started, brow tightening in concern. “Do… Do you believe that Lady Kamui would be willing to go through with such a plan? She… did not present the same defiance against the emperor…”  
  
“Indeed, she did not,” Gunter nodded, letting out a long sigh. “Which is why we aren’t going to make our move just yet, even putting aside the fact that the nearest bridge across the Ignis River is still several day’s travel ahead. You will need to exercise what you were taught by the Peacekeepers, work the social manipulations the Hidden Blades of Ashfeld are so known for; determine if she will attempt to turn her blade and spells on us for conspiracy to commit treason.”  
  
The great armoured man rolled his shoulders as he held his gaze forward, seeming to look upon the back of their ward’s figure as well.  
  
“Do recall that he seemed to believe that his sister stood with him in the senate chambers. If she became hostile, his familial ties might… _complicate_ the matter of redirecting our march.”  
  
“...Sir Gunter,” Felicia pouted up at him. “I was only taught to _fight_ like a Peacekeeper. I don’t know how to… make people admit things without realizing they’re admitting them,” she did her best to convey her thoughts on the matter.  
  
At that, Gunter just growled. “Then I suppose our conspiracy just grew all the more difficult. We’d best plot out our operation before committing to anything and making even more of a mess of the situation,” he looked aside at the sacrificial conscripts still making merry together despite their earlier bickering, grimacing beneath his helmet as he did so. “There is, after all, no honour in slaughtering common folk.”  
  
“...There is no honour in slaughter at all,” Felicia countered in open distaste, allowing her grip to fall from Ice Dragon completely.  
  
Gunter just grunted non-committally as he picked up the pace to catch up with Jophiel, the hesitant swordswoman hopping along to keep up.  
  
They could only pray that no complications would arise before they reached the first bridge to Ashfeld.  
  
\---  
  
“Well well, look at that, ‘bout time, it seems,” a burly character wearing a masked kettle helm with a wide brim and a leather cowl started, approaching the group with a dark, unsettling chuckle on his lips. He swaggered forth upon feet clad in heavy, well-worn, somewhat blood-encrusted boots.  
  
Combined with his wide, heavily armoured shoulders adorned with a single spike on his dominant side, [the man cut a particularly imposing figure.](https://cdn.discordapp.com/attachments/375542541363445760/747554633672556585/bazett.jpg)  
  
“The wyvern rider his highness sent ahead of you lot delivered his message a good two days ago… my men and I have been waiting out here for you all to arrive a fair while, you know?”  
  
They'd been stopped at an outpost which served as one of many waypoints between Windmire and the Bottomless Canyon - yet another otherwise innocuous military position staffed by men they'd expected little more than an acknowledging nod from.  
  
Gunter recognized the apparent commander's type. A Conqueror - heavy infantrymen often recruited into penal legions as penance for crimes committed in Ashfeld, specializing in anti-armour with their terribly dangerous flails and triangular heater shields - stood before the group along with a _proper_ company of soldiers, all wearing Nohrian colours.  
  
“The name’s Hans,” he said, sloppily slapping his heavily padded chest and performing a Roman- or, rather, Nohrian salute. “Me and my men are to join up with the prince and princess’ attack on the Bottomless Canyon’s fortress - escort them there and make sure everything goes all smooth-like, yeah?”  
  
He chortled quietly to himself, patting the spiked iron ball-and-chain set on his hip as he approached Jophiel, surely smiling beneath his sinister faceplate, leaning in heavily, outright invading the prince’s personal space as he did so.  
  
“So, ready to bring damnation to those Hoshidan bastards, your highness?”  
  
Jophiel, Gunter, and Felicia all grimaced.  
  
Needless to say, complications arose.


	12. A Spark to Tinder

The days extended into a week crossing the vast, barren plains of Nohr, Jophiel remained distant from all present in the army, particularly Kamui, who remained withdrawn, Jakob hovering close to her at every minute of the day.  
  
She didn’t know what to do. She didn’t know what to think. Everything she saw was yet more evidence that father was attempting to… that he had sent them off on a death march. But that couldn’t be. He was their father - they were his children. Even if they’d truly made such a grievous mistake in his eyes, surely he would not be so quick to throw them aside callously?  
  
No, she was simply misreading everything. Father… was merely confident in herself and Corrin. He doubtlessly expected them to return home victorious, having overcome tremendous and terrible odds and proved themselves worthy of service to Nohr in so doing. Yes, that had to be it. Just as Xander, Camilla, Leo, and Elise before them, they had to prove themselves. And they would. They would win and bring glory to Nohr in so doing.  
  
It was as simple as that she asserted to herself even as she clung to her masked helmet, trembling helplessly. Jakob wished so terribly that propriety did not demand he mind his place as a lesser and servant when his dear lady so clearly needed comfort her brother seemed keen on withholding.  
  
Regardless, despite Jophiel’s attempts to isolate himself, he nonetheless found that Hans would simply grant him no breathing room. Doubtlessly, the Conquerer’s job was to ensure he did not attempt to desert. He was vulgar, unpleasant in the extreme to speak to - and he seemed quite content to talk at Jophiel for many hours on end despite receiving nothing back in turn.  
  
It was mostly inane trash. Bluster and boasting about the women he’d bedded, the battles he’d fought and how he found himself in the employ of Nohr as an Ashfeldian.  
  
Jophiel had learned that the Conquerers were often, though not always, conscripted criminals. Hans was among those that had chosen a sentence in what was known as Penal Legions over the gallows.  
  
He had murdered a Hoshidan prisoner of war in retaliation for a ‘slight’ after a night of drunken revelry in the Iron Legion. His commanding officer, an emancipated Conqueror by the name of ‘Stone,’ had very nearly caved in his skull on the spot. However, he had been stopped by his second-in-command. The bastard’s defence was that he could ‘see the Samurai insulting him with his eyes,’ whatever that was supposed to mean.  
  
Jophiel had practically received the vile man’s life story, driven into an idle malaise by the time they were nearing the Bottomless Canyon, approaching the perilous mountain chain, which served as a natural border between Hoshido and Nohr.  
  
To his horror, it seemed that he’d never received an opportunity to slip away even in the night - Hans’ men had surrounded him, kept a watchful eye at all hours, barely allowed him enough privacy to so much as relieve himself. Garon had predicted he might try to run, and this was the result of that.  
  
“Well well, lookit that, your highness, we’ve just about reached the place…” Hans chuckled as he rolled his shoulders in anticipation. “So, what’s the plan, then? It’s you and your fine young sister there that’re supposed to be leadin’ this attack and all…”  
  
“If I might speak, young prince,” Gunter spoke up from behind the royal and former convict.  
  
Jophiel motioned for him to do so, making a conscious effort not to panic as the weight of his screw-up hit him.  
  
“We were instructed to take the fortress on the other side of the canyon, nothing more. I would advise a parley with the Hoshidan commander. It would be a long shot, but our anemic numbers would do us little disservice in the case of a surrender of the fortress.”  
  
Of course, Gunter had no illusions about such a plan succeeding. Rather, he intended to get at least instead himself, Kamui, and Jophiel away from the bastard Conquerer’s men who were obviously present to prevent desertion. The Lawbringer could speak Hoshidan, enough to communicate. When before the commander, he would explain the situation, seek asylum in Hoshido for the time being. The Dawn Empire would call upon the Lawbringers in times of great need, so he had some pull beyond the Myre if only a little.  
  
It certainly gave them better chances compared to attempting to win this battle while so terribly outmatched. Hoshido would not leave a border fortress ill-equipped for a siege, let alone a small detachment of foot infantry lacking even the most basic of siege engines.  
  
Jophiel’s eyes widened in realization in turn. He could surrender to the Hoshidans to escape the Nohrians. Would that work? Would he be taken in as a prisoner of war - his tale heard and understood? Or would he be treated as a political bargaining chip to be traded back at their earliest convenience?  
  
...It was more of an opportunity than he’d have trying to fight his way out, either way. He would have to take his chances.  
  
“I agree, we will go along with your suggestion, Sir Gunter,” the brunet declared as he did his level best to maintain a stern poker face.  
  
Gunter and Felicia nodded, while Hans simply hummed, continuing to amble alongside Jophiel with nary an apparent care in the world.  
  
So, silence fell as the army began climbing upwards, ascending the mountains, which led to lands beyond the reach of Nohr.  
  
\---  
  
Jophiel stared in muted horror, eyes scanning the distant cliffs across the ancient, weathered stone bridge which linked the two sides of the great gaping maw of the bottomless canyon - the blackened mountains which rested on either side serving as its teeth. It was one thing to be intellectually aware of who Nohr’s enemy was, but now, peering out across the deep black abyss…  
  
An army of samurai stared back. A squadron of _pegasi_ seeming to _hover_ above them, winged horses with human figures perched on their backs, great long polearms brandished confidently.  
  
That piece of shit Garon had sent them to fight a force more than three times their size when combined with Hans’ troops that were backed up by defensive siege weapons like catapults, ballistae, and _air support_.  
  
Hans’ men didn’t even have any dedicated archers among them, for fuck’s sake! Just a handful of slingers and two throwing spears to each man!  
  
“My oh my,” Hans grunted in faint amusement as he observed the gathered forces on the other side of the one-hundred metre-wide canyon. “Looks like they’re all prepared and everything… their flappy boys up there must’ve spied us coming up the hill.” Hans gestured upwards with his flail at the pegasi, which were just silently hovering in place in the sky, utterly stationary despite the relative stillness of their wings.  
  
Curiously, it almost looked as though the airborne equines were running in place, however.  
  
“What d’you figure, boss? They seem pretty dug in over there.” The Conqueror noted, tapping the wooden handle of his weapon on the rim of his wooden shield, almost impatiently, eyeing the prince through the thin slits that served as the visor of his wide-brimmed helmet.  
  
Warily, Jophiel glanced back at Gunter, who simply nodded at him. Unsettling as it was, what choice did he have but to take this risk? His other option consisted of trying to fight his way out, and he didn’t much like his odds, regardless of the direction he picked, so… “I’ll negotiate. Even if we tried to attack, I doubt we’d be able to get through that gate on the other side of the bridge,” he noted, pointing at the massive, fortified door in question and the archers standing on the battlements above it.  
  
“A wise decision, young prince,” Gunter nodded. “Princess!” he barked, causing Kamui to jump where she was standing a few metres away. “Come. We will march ahead as a small entourage and meet with the fort’s commander. Discuss the terms of their surrender,” he declared as he motioned towards Felicia, who removed her mask from her hip, raising it to her face and securing it in place in a well-practiced motion.  
  
Jophiel blinked. Wait- oh no. He’d thought he’d get sent alone- why did he think he’d get sent alone? Stupid, stupid! This plan was already coming apart at the seams. What was he to do?  
  
Fuck, fuck, _fuck!_  
  
“Alrighty then, Lawman. Let’s hop to it, then,” Hans replied as he gestured for his men to hold their position and started walking…  
  
“Wait, what are you-” Gunter started, his wrinkled brow creasing as he stared down the Nohrian regular.  
  
“His highness’s orders were clear, Lawman,” Hans replied as he turned on his heel and spread his arms out wide. “Escort the prince, make sure everything goes according to plan; I ain’t to leave his side ‘till the job is done. So, we doing this negotiation, or what?”  
  
Gunter was silent for several long moments, his face betraying no emotions one way or the other. “I suppose so,” was his eventual response. “I will lead the way. A Lawbringer at the head of the group will be far less of a disconcerting sight than a Conqueror to the Hoshidans.”  
  
A low, rumbling chuckle reverberated past the metallic faceplate of Hans’ kettle helm, and he stepped aside, motioning for the man to take the lead. “After you, then.”  
  
Gunter shared a look with Felicia, the little Peacekeeper’s eyes glinted with worry behind her mask. They’d both screwed up. They should have considered the possibility of Hans refusing to let them march ahead without him. Now, this would complicate things. If they were lucky, Felicia would think quickly on her feet and have a blade ready to drive between the bastard’s ribs the moment he suspected something was afoot. If not, he would have to hope he could strike the criminal down himself before he might attack the prince or princess.  
  
Either way, it seemed as though a fight might break out before they were home free to request asylum. If nothing else.  
  
He would give the youngsters a chance to make a break for it, hold the line if Hans turned out to be more skilled than his appearance and demeanour suggested.  
  
Keeping his all-encompassing helm tucked under his arm, Gunter began marching forth, his halberd announcing his approach like a judge’s gavel with each step.  
  
The royals and company followed shortly afterwards, the army proper remaining fixed in place behind as the group made to approach the centre of the bridge.  
  
Kamui, notably, had fallen into step alongside Jophiel, turned aside to look at him, and for the first time since they’d set out, he turned to meet her gaze in turn - perhaps reflexively more than anything, and yet…  
  
The look in her eyes, the sheer, undeniable terror, the unspoken plea for direction, for help, was clear and distinct in her large, shimmering crimson orbs. She was scared, utterly mortified by what was happening, and now that he’d acknowledged her, he noticed how visibly she trembled.  
  
Apollyon’s words echoed in his head, of how he should not trust his ‘family,’ how they placed themselves first, how he should do the same… yet looking into her eyes, he felt a deep, intense pang of guilt lance through his body.  
  
“...Remain by my side,” Jophiel whispered lowly, his heart overtaking his logic despite himself. “No matter what happens, stay right beside me, do not fail to follow, understood?” he instructed her at a volume just low enough for only her to hear, softly, with a gentleness he’d not yet used since arriving in this place.  
  
Kamui’s eyes widened, her lips parted, and she stared. She knew it, she’d known it with such certainty, with the way he’d shunned her so coldly - Corrin had come to hate her. She wished so terribly to be able to deny it, but it was as though she might as well not exist to him, and she’d felt so lost, so helpless at the thought of him abandoning her so, for if even he would do so, who else could she trust to be there for her?  
  
Yet, looking at the warm, caring, regretful eyes gazing down at her, the genuine, if restrained care, she saw him. She saw him. Her brother, the young man that had fallen from the tower tops of the Northern Fortress. Who had sworn to walk the world with her, to protect her from anything and everything that might do her harm. The brother that held her close and comforted her when she was still so small, so afraid of the dark and with no one else to lean upon…  
  
He was still there, walking alongside her, marching into the unknown, guiding her. To where, she did not know, but at that moment, a deep, unparalleled surge of shame shot through her very soul, and in its wake was left resolve.  
  
With a nod, Kamui lifted her helmet, and set it upon her head, readying herself for whatever may come next.  
  
She’d doubted her big brother, and she never would again.  
  
Jophiel’s gaze lingered on her for a few moments, and eventually, he refocused on the path ahead. What the hell was he planning? What was he thinking? Allowing his soft-hearted nature towards girls to get to him now of all times, when the potential consequences of a misstep were so high… Yet, somehow, he felt as though he’d done the right thing.  
  
He supposed that he’d just have to hope that Kamui wouldn’t turn on him when it mattered the most, then.  
  
The group came to a stop in the middle of the bridge, standing there and merely waiting. Eventually, the fortress gate opened, and a small detachment of Hoshidan men emerged from behind the fortification. The gates closed again as they’d passed through and began approaching on foot, at the ready, but weapons not drawn.  
  
Each passing moment seemed more surreal than the last. With each step taken, it became easier and easier to make the warriors out. Leading was a samurai wearing armour which looked much bulkier than the previous set of Hoshidan equipment he’d seen. Where the last warrior’s protection had been entirely wood save for his helm, only this man’s forearms, shins, and hips were guarded with said material. His torso and shoulders were instead encased in what had to be hardened leather, decorated with what looked to be iron medallions or coins, a simple, turtle shell-like iron helmet rested atop his masked head, and from beneath it, he gazed at the group suspiciously.  
  
The men behind him, which made his group equal in size to Jophiel’s dressed far more simply. Their helmets were bronze skullcaps with wood panel shrouds for neck and ear protection. They wore segmented wooden panels on their chests, with little else in the way of armour aside from the plain wooden shields which seemed to be formed from three planks riveted together, undecorated aside from the triple peaks at the top.  
  
Notably, the swords the less wealthy samurai’s underlings were carrying were roughly similar to a katana in shape, though their handles had only enough room for a single hand.  
  
Samurai carrying shields wasn’t something Jophiel was used to seeing.  
  
“These lands are Hoshidan,” the samurai declared, surprisingly, in heavily accented but otherwise clear and understandable Latin. His off-hand was clutching the scabbard of his katana nervously. “Neither Lawbringers nor warriors of the Dusk Empire have any place here. Explain your presence at once.”  
  
Jophiel felt his stomach attempting to lurch up and out of his mouth. This was it. This was his chance. What should he do? What should he say? ‘Help me, these evil bastards tried to force me to murder prisoners of war?’ ‘I surrender, please spare my sister and me?’ He had frozen with indecision, mortified by the thought that if he screwed this up, this could be were he died… _again_.  
  
Gunter took a breath and rose a hand to draw attention to himself, the samurai focusing on him. “We-”  
  
“I-!” Jophiel choked out in a panicked tone, his nerves getting the better of him as he took a sudden, lurching step forward in a manner that caused everyone present to jump- and the samurai commander to begin drawing his sword.  
  
The next few moments seemed to pass in slow motion. The blade of the commander’s weapon cleared the mouth of its scabbard, his eyes focused entirely on the prince, broad and startled - then, the sound of a chain followed. The Hoshidan’s gaze drifted aside, oculars widening even further, and as Hans stepped into view, his flail already mid-swing, there was nothing anyone could do before a sickening crack resounded out across the bridge.  
  
The samurai collapsed to the stone ground, neck broken, and the Conquerer was already carrying his attack through onto the next nearest warrior - his flail deflecting off their shield uselessly.  
  
“Fucking parley-breaking Hoshidan scum!” Hans cried out as Jophiel, Kamui, Gunter, Felicia, and Jakob all stood, mouths gaping at what had just transpired. Then, another of the warriors moved to charge, aiming his blade for Jophiel, still paralyzed with shock.  
  
A blur interjected harshly and swiftly, an arc of blood splurting out as the man’s head was separated from his body, frozen droplets of blood clinking off of Jophiel’s armour as Felicia carried through her attack. She whipped past the man that had targeted her ward, becoming a whirling dervish of a paired sword and dagger which moved almost too quickly to follow with the naked eye.  
  
Six Samurai had walked out to meet them. Hans stuck down one the very instant danger seemed afoot. Within three seconds, Felicia had arced forth and cut down the five that remained - their blood appearing to flash-freeze as it left their bodies, crashing to the stonework at their feet as crimson ice spurting out from their most vital parts, each strike nigh-on surgical in its precision.  
  
The little maid stood before them, her stark white mask utterly impassive as she came to an artful halt as if ceasing an expertly practiced dance rather than ceasing a sudden burst of extreme violence upon the Hoshidan men that hit the floor nigh-on simultaneously.  
  
Silence hung momentarily, Gunter being the first aside from Felicia to process what had just occurred, equal parts horror and fury etching themselves on his face as he turned to face Hans-  
  
“You,” the Conquerer started, thrusting the iron-capped grip of his flail out at the paralyzed prince. “Are damned lucky I was waiting for those treacherous Hoshidan scum to make a move like that!”  
  
“ _You gods-forsaken fool!_ ” Gunter cried out in unfathomable indignation at the flail-wielding figure. “ _Have you any idea what you’ve done-!?_ ”  
  
A chorus of frenzied screams came from the Hoshidan defensive line. Whipping about to face it, the Nohrian party bore witness to the gates being practically flung open, as many men as could stand shoulder-to-shoulder rushing forth across the bridge to meet them in righteous fury.  
  
A broken parley. Among the worst war crimes one could commit in the feudal eras of man.  
  
Kamui drew her shortsword with practically no coordination at all. Jakob stepped forth and brandished a blade and dagger of his own, standing between her and the advancing Hoshidans. Felicia had seemingly flash-stepped back with incredible grace, placing herself in front of Jophiel and holding low to the ground, her sword and dagger readied just the same as her male counterpart.  
  
Gunter let out a furious snarl as he slammed his helmet onto his head and readied his mighty halberd, standing tall and firm against the advancing wave of violent samurai.  
  
“Well,” Hans grunted as he rolled his shoulders and raised his shield. “Looks like this is where the fun begins!”  
  
Jophiel still stood, watching the advancing forces even as he could make out the din of their own Nohrian army rapidly nearing from behind. After a moment, he willed his body to move, and he positioned himself into a crude facsimile of Gunter’s stance. One word. One word was all it had taken for him to screw the pooch and set off a powder keg completely.  
  
“Fuck my life,” the pseudo-Lawbringer growled as he prepared for the first and hopefully not last battle of his life.


	13. From the Abyss

The heavy footfalls of Legionaries stormed across the battlefield, battlecries for fortune’s favour resounding out as the royal retinue stood in preparation for the inevitable clash with the Samurai assault.  
  
Gunter’s nostrils flared, his gaze drifting aside to the treacherous Conqueror and obvious puppet of the Dusk Emperor. The bastard, the _son of a bitch_ had effectively damned them. Garon’s servants would not part to make way for the young prince or his sister at this stage, both possible avenues for escape had been closed off to them.  
  
The once-Free Marshall’s keenly sharpened mind went a mile a minute even as the battle lines clashed, and he quickly concluded that there was only one real chance for them to get out of this alive. Flee in the ensuing melee, attempt to slip out unnoticed, ensure that the common Legionaries only discover they’d escaped after the battle was over.  
  
But with Hans sticking so very close to the prince’s side… there was only one logical course of action. Take advantage of the chaos in more ways than one.  
  
The spearpoint of Gunter’s halberd punched clean through a common Hoshidan footsoldier’s wooden breastplate, the man was hefted into the air, and promptly tossed into the mass of his allies as an impromptu projectile, knocking a handful of spearmen to their backs. The motion had nigh-on effortless, and with a deft twirl of the pole in his hands, the axe head was brought down and cleanly clove another Samurai warrior in half.  
  
“A display fit for a Hero!” came a common Legionary’s evaluation of the actions from within the chorus of battle.  
  
As he worked, waited for an opening, Felicia danced circles around Jophiel and Hans, the ground upon which she stepped rapidly frosting over and turning to sheer ice sheets the Hosidans could not keep their balance on - each thrust and calculated swing of her sword or dagger came with an accompanying kill. The girl, despite her fluffy, cheerful demeanour, could not be described as anything less than a killing machine, to the degree that even the local Nohrian standing beside him was struck dumb by the display.  
  
“What in the bloody actual fuck is this then?” Hans questioned, attempting to keep himself and his shield between whatever seemed to be the largest threat approaching them - rather pointlessly, though, given the mechanical ferocity and mercilessness with which Felicia operated. “Of all the magic I’ve seen, never has a lass froze the blasted ground she walked on! She ain’t even holding a tome! How’s she doin’ that?” he questioned aloud, glancing over his shoulder at the princeling he saw fit to protect. “The fuck is she!?”  
  
“I- I don’t know!” Jophiel cried back, flailing his halberd out at a nearing Samurai, who quickly changed his mind about approaching the whirling, dancer that was the Peacekeeper ferociously protecting her ward. It was, however, becoming abundantly clear that Felicia was a significant cut above the average warrior, to an insane degree.  
  
“Is she a bloody Hero or something!?” Hans queried, looking more and more taken aback by the sheer divide between her and the warriors she cut down like blades of grass. “This ain’t natural, I swear-!”  
  
At that moment, Jophiel felt a harsh, jabbing sensation in his throat which winded him harshly - he jumped aside to get away and noticed the spearman that had lunged at him moving to press the attack. Panic rose in his eyes as the armoured figure realized he’d just been stabbed in the throat - though it didn’t hurt as he’d have expected it to-  
  
In rapid succession, two sickening cracks could just be made out over the chorus of battle around them - Hans bringing his flail down on the Hoshisan spearman’s arm, then across his poorly armoured face.  
  
“Calm yourself, your highness! Yer armour took the blow!” He asserted as he spun and caught a charging swordsman around the neck with his weapon’s chain, leveraging the wood-plated samurai around his back, and yanking the grip downwards as the Hoshidan’s neck was broken over the Conqueror's shoulder. “You’d better start killing if you’re lookin’ to get outta this alive, princeling!” he declared as he then tossed the limp body over his shoulder into yet _another_ charging Samurai.  
  
While the Nohrians had superior equipment and the benefit of apex warriors on their side, the Hoshidans had sheer _numbers_ backing them up. For every man Felicia cut down, two strode in to take his place, and each was more fearless than the last - never mind the fact that every fallen Legionary and levie spearman was _not_ being replaced from a seemingly endless stream of back-ups. Getting overwhelmed wasn’t a matter of if, it was already happening, and Jophiel didn’t know what to-  
  
His vision went sideways, the wind was knocked even further out of him, and g-forces carried him forth and out of sight.  
  
Gunter’s gaze snapped to the side, saw Felicia whip around to notice Jophiel being carted off on a massive warrior’s shoulder, but being immediately cut off and distracted by a proper Hoshidan officer she could not fell in a single blow. Gunter then noticed the surprise in the Conqueror's body language at the same sight, and already the bastard was moving to charge after his ward - doubtlessly to take advantage of the surprise attack to finish him off himself, as Garon surely ordered him to.  
  
Halberd twisting around, lunging out, he hooked the beard of his axe around Hans’ leg and yanked, harshly tripping the Conqueror who only just barely caught himself and deftly rolled to gaze back at the Lawbringer in shock.  
  
“What by the Dusk Dragon’s taint are you doing, Lawbringer!?” Hans demanded from behind his masked wide-brimmed helm.  
  
Gunter trusted his ward to be able to handle his lone foe - in the meantime, he would secure their safe escape.  
  
Crying out in pain and surprise, Jophiel felt himself harshly slam into one of the stone pillars which lined the sparsely fenced edges of the bridge.  
  
A deep guttural growl followed as Jophiel felt lifted and pinned to the same pillar by his throat, and from behind the ocular slits of his helm, he could see a twisted, sadistically grinning visage gazing back at him - small, jet-black eyes framed by bone-white flesh accompanied by an impossibly wide grin displaying what could only be described as tusks jutting out from its lips.  
  
 _“Waga shucuu ni ari,”_ the demonic creature uttered incomprehensibly, eyes level with Jophiel’s own despite the pseudo-Lawbringer being suspended off the ground by his throat. _“Isagiyoki shine!”_  
  
With his gauntleted free hand, Jophiel reflexively lashed out with an uppercut at its jaw and was immediately dropped when the blow landed and drove the creature back. It was dazed, shaking its head in confusion and slapping its forehead…  
  
 _“N-Nani?”_ the figure Jophiel could now tell was little more than a freakishly massive Hoshidan wearing an oni mask uttered in clear and obvious shock. A Shugoki, as he’d learned they were called.  
  
The Nohrian prince was taken aback by the sheer size of the man, who was legitimately built like an actual monster - mounds of corpulent flesh shielded by incredibly thick wooden plates combined with a height of no less than six-and-a-half feet, if not more than that. Though grossly overweight, the sheer fact that he’d pinned Jophiel to a wall with a single hand so easily belied the _immense_ strength of the masked warrior.  
  
Who, as Jophiel had been recovering from the shock of what happened, kicked his head back into gear and focused squarely on the prince again. _“Taisou ni shi wo!_ ” He declared before hefting the enormous, tree-like studded club in his hand over his shoulder as though it were a twig, and charged.  
  
Jophiel still had his halberd in hand and brought it about in a wild, uncoordinated swing. The flat of the blade collided with the Shugoki’s head, and he was knocked off-balance. Dropped to his belly, the warrior let out a groan of surprise - only to be cut off as he was cleanly beheaded; Jophiel having carried the momentum through to transition into a more coordinated killing blow without a second thought.  
  
The axehead of the halberd had bitten into the masonry of the bridge beneath them, and with heaving shoulders, his breath bouncing off the inner plate of his helmet and right back into his face, Jophiel stopped, blinked, and processed what he’d just done.  
  
A man had charged him. He’d countered, and without an instant of hesitation… killed him, just like that. So quickly, so easily.  
  
There was no blood - the split between neck and body having seemingly flash-frozen from contact with the halberd’s enchanted edge.  
  
It had been so quick.  
  
It had been so easy.  
  
Were people supposed to die that quickly?  
  
 _Why had that been so easy?_  
  
He stopped moving, oblivious to the world even as arrows uselessly plinked off of his fully encased metallic form, and only returned to the situation when he noticed two familiar figures back across the bridge. An increasingly familiar dance of death occurring… between Gunter and Hans.  
  
Gunter was being pressed back - visible dents where Hans’ flail had impacted and partially caved in his armour peppering his form. Jophiel could not see Gunter’s face behind his helmet, but it was clear and obvious that he was caught off-guard, losing the duel between himself and the Conqueror…  
  
Jophiel, still reeling from taking his first life so suddenly, could only stand and watch as Gunter moved to thrust the spearpoint of his halberd into Hans, who caught the shaft of the weapon with the chain of his flail and wretched it from his hands, before charging with his shield, slamming it into Gunter’s face… and pushing him over the edge of the bridge, into the bottomless canyon below.  
  
...An agent of Garon would not aim to murder his own companion.  
  
Only an instant of hesitation followed before fury welled in his chest, and without a second thought, Jophiel tore Frozen Lacerta from the pavement and charged, spear aimed right at Hans’ chest.  
  
“-treacherous bastard-” the Conqueror finished uttering with a shake of his head, unheard and unheeded as he turned back just to catch another great armoured figure dead sprinting at him too quickly to react. The weapon punched clean through his padded cloth armour, to the other side, and the momentum of the charge carried him off his feet and right over the edge of the bridge as well.  
  
Reflexively, he’d lashed out in turn, catching the chain of his weapon around Jophiel’s neck by sheer accident. His grip on his weapon was firm, and the figure he only just recognized as the prince himself was pulled off the great stone bridge with him.  
  
Caught in an uncontrolled spin by the rapidly unravelling chain, Jophiel’s heart leapt into his throat, the world began to move in slow motion.  
  
As he edged over, careened into the abyss, he saw a pair of large, bright red eyes, abject, indescribable horror on a young woman’s face, a delicate hand reaching out for him in desperation as a name he vaguely noted was meant to be his was cried out in horror.  
  
Kamui had seen the attack on Gunter, she’d seen Corrin’s teacher of so many years be thrown into the canyon, the unyielding dark below, and she saw her brother charge in retaliation - she saw him overcommit, and she realized what was about to happen. She’d fallen into a dead sprint, running blindly through the chaos of the battlefield, her still unbloodied icy shortsword gripped tightly in her hand.  
  
When he began to go over, she reached out, desperately, pleading to the Dusk Dragon to carry her to her brother, to let her reach him in time.  
  
Her hand tightly clasped his, fingers locking in place, refusing to let go.  
  
But Kamui was not strong enough to cease the momentum of a falling Lawbringer in full plate. And so, Jophiel watched as he dragged the girl that called herself his sister over the edge with him, the horror of the situation escalating a thousandfold.  
  
He closed his eyes, clenched them shut, at least hoping to be spared such a horrible sight in his last moments of life.  
  
Once again, he _fell_.  
  
Needless to say, the confusion he felt when his downwards momentum reversed just as suddenly as it had begun was immense. Jophiel snapped open his eyes, felt _something_ pushing him back upwards from his waist, saw the cliff and its surroundings rapidly whizzing by in reverse, and the lifting ceased. With a yelp, he hit the ground - the grassy ground which lined the edges of the bottomless canyon’s mouth.  
  
He stared skywards, eyes locked open, lost in the heavenly blue above.  
  
What the actual fuck had just happened?  
  
He blinked, realized his lungs screamed in protest as he’d stopped breathing, and he took in a sharp inhale of oxygen as he propped himself up on his elbows.  
  
...To find a girl dressed in a common maid’s garb with bright blue and red hair laying atop him. Her arms were tightly wrapped around his chest, breathing raggedly as massive, fin-like wings the same graduating colour as her hair were spread out across the ground on either side of her, then began to shimmer before almost shattering like glass, glittering dust drifting off in the wind. What was left was nothing but the figure of Lilith - the commoner girl that had prepared his horse for him when they’d left the Northern Fortress in their wake.  
  
She unwrapped her arms from around his waist, pushed herself up on her hands, and made eye contact with him through his visor, her gaze snapping aside for a few moments before she let her face fall, still breathing like she’d run a triathlon.  
  
“...I-” the blue and red-haired girl started, her gaze snapping between Jophiel and something off to his side. “I’m not human, I’m a species that can fly - but only a set number of times in our lives,” Lilith asserted without much prompting. “And that was my last flight… my lord, my lady.”  
  
Jophiel blinked, turned aside… Kamui was there, laid out next to him, still clinging to his hand incredibly tightly, eyes wide as she stared at Lilith in open shock.  
  
“I-” Jophiel began as he unlatched and lifted the visor of Dignified Veneer, not sure how to process what the hell had just happened. “What…”  
  
“It’s okay,” Lilith asserted, making an effort to rise to her feet. “We’re safe now… away from the battle, at least.” She quickly crossed her hands in front of her waist demurely, just as servants of the female persuasion seemingly typically did in Nohr. As if she hadn’t just _sprouted wings and rescued Jophiel and Kamui from falling into a canyon so deep it was impossible to see the bottom-_  
  
“GUNTER!” Jophiel’s mind snapped back to reality, he leapt to his feet and moved to rush to the canyon’s edge-  
  
“I’m sorry,” Lilith cut him off, placing her arm between him and the canyon’s edge. “I… you alone were so terribly heavy, it took everything I had just to carry the both of you back up. I’m sorry, but, I had to make a choice…” her features fell, genuine guilt finding purchase on her strange, ethereally exotic features.  
  
Jophiel just stared at her, began to blink rapidly, and let out a shuddering sigh as he stepped back and fell on his rear. Part of him was wondering why he was getting so worked up - it wasn’t as though he’d trusted the Lawbringer after all, right?  
  
Yet… Hans wouldn’t have attacked him if he had been in league with Garon.  
  
“Fuck…” the prince cursed under his breath. He’d misjudged Gunter, it seemed. “Sorry, old man…”  
  
A few moments passed, and he felt fingers tightening around the backplate of his gauntlet, applying pressure to the unarmoured palm beneath. Looking aside, Kamui had approached, rested her hand atop his - the same he’d just torn free from her grasp when he’d leapt up only to be stopped by Lilith. He blinked, head still swimming from what had just happened.  
  
Then, the girl jumped on him, wrapped her arms around his neck and clung to him as if for dear life, openly wailing as she started trembling uncontrollably.  
  
...That’s right. She’d tried to catch him. Save him. At the risk of her own life.  
  
He’d _fallen_.  
  
He was quiet for a time, eventually, returning her hug soundlessly. Perhaps Apollyon had been overly critical in her evaluation of the girl, and perhaps it wasn’t just Gunter he had misjudged.  
  
Lilith gazed down at the pair, sighing in some relief as she turned around to survey the area, back towards the din of the nearby battle which still raged on without them. She jumped as if electrically shocked, then went deathly still.  
  
“...Lilith-?” Jophiel began inquisitively, only to be harshly cut off by the same girl.  
  
“We have to move, now!” She asserted as she stooped over and took a hold of his free hand, trying to pull him back to his feet. “I made a mistake- I made a terrible mistake- we’re on the Hoshidan side of the canyon!”  
  
A rock hit the bottom of Jophiel’s gut, and he was immediately upright, Kamui crying out in surprise as she nearly lost her grip on him and fell when he rose with little consideration for her presence.  
  
The gate was on the wrong side of the bridge. The distinctly Japanese-styled fortress too - they were actually on the _immediately_ hostile side of the canyon. Considering what had just happened…  
  
“Alright, outta the bushes, surround them!” Came a boisterous feminine voice from behind them as the greenery rustled.  
  
Jophiel spun in place and saw several Samurai rush out of the treeline to surround the trio, weapons drawn and ready to attack. Naturally, he, in turn, moved to pick up Frozen Lacerta, his hal...berd…  
  
The prince let out a choking noise as he realized his weapon wasn’t on the ground anywhere near them, nor was Kamui’s Frigid Gilt - meaning they had been dropped into the canyon.  
  
 _Fuck_.  
  
At that point, the bushes parted, and Jophiel felt his breath catch in his throat.  
  
“Well well, and here I thought we spent all of our luck back at Krakenberg!” Out stepped a dusky-skinned blonde woman hefting a club not entirely dissimilar to the weapon that Shugoki he’d just bested. Her steel cable-like musculature undulating almost mesmerizingly as she adjusted her grip on the mighty weapon.  
  
“Is there a reason we are speaking in Nohrian, Rinkah?” An Orochi armoured in plain wooden plating and faded underclothes asked as he too, stepped out of the brush - his steely, violet gaze framed by dark green hair which poked out from beneath the brim of his bronze Japanese helmet peered at the group.  
  
“Because it’d be rude to speak in a language our guests wouldn’t understand, you uncultured ass,” the tall woman declared with a wide, lop-sided grin.  
  
It was the man and woman that Garon had tried to force Jophiel and Kamui to execute back in Windmire - that Leon _had_ executed.  
  
Kamui’s eyes had gone wide in confusion at the sight of the pair, and she gaped openly at them, unsure of how to process this development.  
  
“What, just gonna stand there, mouths open like a pair of koi outta water?” The blonde asked, clearly finding no small amount of amusement in the situation.  
  
Jophiel hesitated, but eventually, did manage a response. “...Leon killed you both,” he started, “you both died - we saw it,” he asserted.  
  
“Seems he fucked the attempt up, huh?” the woman declared with a prideful sneer.  
  
“We had thought much the same, admittedly,” the katana-wielding Orochi offered in a cool, dignified voice which heavily contrasted the women’s. “Yet we came to outside of the city walls hours later, alive, pained, but ultimately unhurt.”  
  
“B-but the _snap_ ,” Kamui protested.  
  
“Snap?” The burly blonde interjected. “Not sure about that, felt more like being choked out than anything. Blacked out, woke up unguarded outside. Simple as that!” she asserted as she bounced the immense club on her shoulder with frightening casualness.  
  
“Regardless of what you saw or heard, here we stand, ultimately unharmed,” the Orochi noted. “In no small part, thanks to the both of you standing up to the Dusk Emperor.”  
  
Jophiel’s lips parted and closed again. They were both fluent in Latin. Meaning they’d have understood that entire exchange back there…  
  
“And for that,” the Shugoki started with a downright sadistic grin. “We’re gonna offer you the chance to surrender and come along quietly without beating you both into a pair of bloody pulps beforehand!”  
  
Jophiel and Kamui were very keenly reminded that they were currently surrounded by enemies at that moment, and both tensed significantly at the threat,  
  
 _“Rinkah,_ ” the Orochi very harshly snapped his gaze at her. “Heed your words very carefully - else you force me to act on my honour.”  
  
The woman, apparently named Rinkah, rolled her eyes and groaned melodramatically. “ _Yare yare_ , right, forgot, no fun allowed. All stern soldier man all the damned time with you-”  
  
“I would strongly advise that you cease testing my patience now, _of all times_ , Rinkah,” the armoured samurai growled lowly, staring at her out of the corner of his eye.  
  
She let out a frustrated groan in response as she turned on her heel and started ambling off. “Fine, you handle the prisoners then. Just don’t take your sweet-ass time.”  
  
The Orochi watched her drift off for a few moments before turning back to face the three Nohrians. “My name is Kaze, and if you surrender your weapons and come along peacefully, then I swear on my honour that I will see you treated with dignity and respect - by lethal force if need be,” he added with a low voice, glancing over his shoulder back at the Shugoki that made an incredibly rude hand gesture at him in turn. “You will be brought before the Empress herself, and I swear neither of you nor your servant, will be harmed.”  
  
...Wait, weapons? Jophiel glanced aside at Kamui - and did a double-take when he noticed the black and gold single-edged sword still strapped to her hip. Venomous Gaze - the _aggressively_ evil sword Garon had presented to her back in Windmire.  
  
She seemed surprised herself to still have it and looked up to Jophiel as if for guidance.  
  
...Well, he was planning to surrender to the Hoshidans as a back-up plan anyway, right? “Do what he says, Kamui,” he instructed her. “He promised to protect us if we cooperate - Samurai do not go back on their word.”  
  
Kamui did not seem entirely convinced, but when it was obvious Jophiel wasn’t going to change his stance, she slowly drew the sword, turning it around, and presented the handle to the Hoshidan warrior.  
  
Kaze took the weapon, pausing and giving it a significant look once he set eyes on it, but quickly enough stepped back and moved on. “Come along then. It is a long way to Koto, though wagons and horses will ease the burden of much of the journey,” he instructed the three as he stepped aside and motioned for them to walk ahead of him, presumably to follow Rinkah.  
  
Jophiel glanced aside at Kamui, then back to Lilith. The exotic, apparently non-human servant girl looked incredibly disconcerted and had been hiding behind him this entire time.  
  
The only reason he hadn’t begun to panic once he’d realized that he’d nearly fallen to his death for a second time, was because there was too much going on to focus on it. Lilith had saved him, spared him such a second, horrible fate. He didn’t know her, wasn’t even certain what she was doing here… but she had earned his eternal gratitude, and he would see her safe from harm going forth.  
  
At any rate, with little other choices than to pray that they weren’t marching to their deaths, _again_ , leaving the increasingly distant sounds of battle behind them, Jophiel, Kamui, and now Lilith took their first steps deeper into the lands of the mysterious Samurai.


	14. One More Step

“By all the gods of fire and fuck, _must_ we continue along _this_ route of all routes?” Jophiel cried out with a full-body spasm of anger, his frustration hitting a tipping point as he crossed the threshold of yet _another_ dangerously perilous foot-wide ledge path.  
  
Three days in, they’d been led directly north, made to travel along a stony, pale grey mountain path which oftentimes grew so cramped and/or steep that Jophiel was certain he was moments away from slipping and breaking his neck rolling into a valley, as opposed to moving directly east for what looked like a dead-ass normal forest from several peaks over the course of the days.  
  
Kaze just shrugged as the light, ceaseless mountain breeze made his mid-length hair billow slightly, unperturbed as he consulted the scroll on which he presumably kept the maps they were using to navigate through the mountain pass. “Frustrated as you are, young prince, I assure you, this is the far safer of the three routes available to the capital.”  
  
“By what fucking metric!?” the long-haired Nohrian prince demanded to know, slapping the side of a sheer cliff with the back of his gauntleted hand. “All’s I see is a forest at the base of these damned mountains!” so many damned cliffs, _so many damned cliffs_. The heights, the _anxiety_ was getting to him. He wanted to be back on flat land, damn it! Fuck heights, fuck cliffs, and _fuck mountains!_  
  
“Normally, I’d agree with you, Jo,” Rinkah declared, having plopped down on a knee-high rock to take a breather as Kaze charted out their next steps. “But ‘that forest’ is the Myre. It’s all swamp - _cursed_ swamp at that. Some kinda freaky evil energy soaks the entire area - keeps its lands changing all the time. You could walk a path for an hour, realize you forgot something, and turn around to find nothing but neck-deep water choked with strangling and trapping plants all the way back you came.”  
  
The dusky-skinned woman rose her arms above her head to stretch, her muscles straining beneath her tough, calloused flesh with the motion. Despite the chill of the cold, high-altitude air, she never gave the slightest indication of discomfort despite being completely topless save for a breast wrap. That bothered Jophiel for the first while, then he attributed it to magic and stopped thinking about it.  
  
Regardless of the wayward prince’s internal musings, Rinkah continued on unperturbed. “I hate having to weave around these crazy old shinobi paths the same as anyone, but at least these paths _stay_ where the ancient maps say they’ll be. The Myre, that place actively tries to kill people dumb enough to enter it.”  
  
Though Jophiel’s attention had been firmly grasped by the assertion that they’d been sticking to rock climbing to avoid a cursed swamp, _everyone_ perked up at the mention of the word ‘shinobi.’ Even Kamui, who had been otherwise completely quiet as she and Lilith stuck close together, was taken aback by the declaration.  
  
“What,” Rinkah inquired, sitting there, practically lounging on that rock like she hadn’t just said anything noteworthy. “Did all of you think this was a normal path used by merchants or something? Kaze’s an Orochi - their school uses old shinobi scrolls to supplement their other training methods. Everyone knows that.”  
  
“Why, Rinkah,” Kaze’s eyes drifted up over the rim of the scroll he was still reading. “Would _Nohrians_ know that?”  
  
Rinkah gave an exaggerated shrug at that. “Because they aren’t Nohr-”  
  
“ _Rinkah!_ ” the viridian-haired samurai harshly hissed at her, nearly throwing his scroll to the ground as he did so as he leaned forth, his body language taking on a highly angered, even hostile tone.  
  
The woman in question threw her hands up at that, letting out a frustrated groan as she did so. “Whatever, whatever! Shutting up you tightass son of a…” she drifted off at that, planting an arm on her knee as she grumbled in annoyance as she set a hand on her cheek, glaring off into the distance of a nearby mountain peak.  
  
This was an exchange that had occurred multiple times since they’d set off. The first time it resulted in a long, rapid-fire exchange of Japanese words constituting an argument neither Jophiel, Kamui, nor Lilith could make heads or tails of. Every time after, Rinkah would start to say something and Kaze would snarl at her like a frenzied wolf and she’d fume and pout for an hour afterwards.  
  
The soldiers accompanying them, who, after their pair had opened their visor or removed their helmets outright, Jophiel had noticed were outright staring at himself and Kamui anytime they thought they couldn’t be seen, grew increasingly tense with each exchange. By this point, they’d even stopped chatting amongst themselves, seeming to not want to risk provoking more words from Rinkah which might anger the Orochi guiding them through these perilous mountains.  
  
Jophiel wasn’t sure what to make of it, but he wasn’t exactly in a position to do anything about it. Like it or not, he, Kamui, and Lilith were prisoners - even if it almost never seemed like it. In fact, aside from taking Kamui’s sword from her, no impositions had been put upon the three at any point.  
  
It was strange, and Jophiel didn’t know what to make of it. Annoying, since-  
  
His attention was demanded by a light tugging on his cape, and turning around to face the culprit, he found Lilith peering up at him from behind her sweat-matted blue-and-red hair, her expression pensive. “What’s a ‘shinobi?’” the little fantastical maid asked innocently, standing straight but still demurely, as was expected of someone of her status.  
  
Jophiel blinked, then motioned as if to scratch the back of his neck through his padded hood. Just saying ‘a ninja’ wouldn’t work for obvious reasons, and it wasn’t like he was supposed to know the answer to that either, so… “I’m not sure, you’ll have to ask Rinkah or Kaze,” he waved the question off.  
  
Lilith seemed perturbed at that, but didn’t press the issue, instead just quietly pouting as Kamui gave her an unreadable aside look.  
  
Minutes passed in relative quiet at that point, the sound of the ever-present mountain breeze providing some measure of white noise to keep total silence at bay.  
  
“I’ve finished plotting out our next steps,” Kaze declared as he returned the map to a small canister on his waist, presumably repeating himself in Japanese for the benefit of the common soldiers among them before shifting back to Nohrian. “Let’s get moving, we should be off this mountain and onto the northern alpines within the hour - if we hike quickly, we may even cross into the hills of the northern hills by this evening.”  
  
Jophiel let out a long, relieved sigh at that. “Music to my ears,” he declared genuinely, wanting to be off these damned mountains already.  
  
\---  
  
“I hate mountains,” Rinkah declared, stomping her feet in the increasingly soft, grassy earth as the group made their way down the hills leading away from the dangerous path they’d just trekked the past three days. The hilly region they’d emerged into was wide, largely bereft of trees, and windy, but it wasn’t a fucking mountain so Jophiel preferred it already. “So we just keep going north, and that’s where the road that splits between the way to High Court and Koto lies, right?” she asked, twisting her head around to face the shorter samurai striding alongside her.  
  
Why the two spoke in Nohrian much of the time, Jophiel didn’t know, but if nothing else it at least let him know that most of the time they were just talking about inane shit rather than openly conspiring on how they would kill himself and the two girls they held prisoner or something.  
  
“Indeed,” Kaze nodded, his thick wooden armour plates loudly and somewhat obnoxiously clanking together with each step downwards. “The path runs along the coastal cliffs,” he motioned outward as if to trace some unseen curving line in the distance. “So we need only continue in this direction until we find it.”  
  
The lands of Hoshido proper were… well, Jophiel could only figure that they were still in a fairly high-altitude location, given how chilly it was - or seemed to be, at least. It hadn’t occurred to him until he’d noticed frost lining his armour the morning after their first night in the mountains, as he just… wasn’t cold at any point.  
  
Initially, he thought his armour might’ve been enchanted to be climate controlled or something, but then he’d noticed that neither Kamui, Lilith, nor Rinkah was bothered by the apparent temperature either, while Kaze and his men rather decidedly _were_ , and had broken out cloaks to make the trip across the mountains tolerable.  
  
The fact that Kamui didn’t wear proper shoes only made that difference all the more stark and bizarre.  
  
It fucked with Jophiel’s perception of the environment to no small degree, to put it mildly. And made him wonder just what the hell was going on with himself, his sister, the maid, and the muscular woman escorting them through Hoshido.  
  
“High Court?” Kamui interjected after a few moments of silence, her steps mechanical and plodding. Those had been among the first words she’d spoken since all of this started, notably. “Isn’t that the capital city of the Lawbringers?”  
  
Kaze nodded matter-of-factly at her question. “Yes. The road along the coastal cliffs leads directly to the dominion of the Lawbringers and extends past their borders into Ashfeld. That is not particularly relevant to us, either way, as we are going in the opposite direction, to Koto, regardless.”  
  
Idly, Jophiel wondered what it would have meant had Gunter still been with them… he was a true Lawbringer, might he have suggested going there instead? To a place where he’d know they’d be safe? The question was ultimately irrelevant, however. Gunter was gone, and that was that.  
  
The thought of his former teacher, however brief his time as a student had been, caused his mind to also wander to the kindly little maid who had been glued to his side most days since he’d awoken in the Northern Fortress. Felicia, though just a bit of a ditz from what he’d experienced of her, was an absolute terror on the battlefield, and he wondered, or rather, hoped that she’d somehow managed to get out of that shitshow at the Bottomless Canyon alive.  
  
Granted, it was unlikely that they’d ever meet again, with the way things were going, but still… it seemed to him like Felicia deserved a better end than that, just the same as Gunter.  
  
At any rate, Jophiel kept his grim thoughts to himself and continued along, the plates of his great metallic armour punctuated his every weighty step as the group neared the coastal flatlands of Hoshido’s far north. His motions were as robotic as Kamui’s, though perhaps for different reasons.  
  
Either way, the group marched onwards and towards their destination and uncertain fate.  
  
\---  
  
There was no mistaking it at this point. A great, jet black plume of smoke split the azure horizon in two, direct sight of the source broken by a gently rising hill leading further eastward.  
  
“That smoke is coming from Kurifusaido - the village we were to acquire horses and a carriage from,” Kaze declared, eyes narrowing as he glared at the pillar of ash towering overhead, his body language and hand firmly at rest on his sword indicating that he was ready for trouble.  
  
“Raiders?” Rinkah asked, taking a step towards the source of their unease while still turning back to face Kaze, her great warclub at rest on her shoulder, ready to swing at a moment’s notice.  
  
“From Valkenheim?” the samurai shook his head, planting a hand on his chin as his eyes narrowed further in thought, favouring a leg as he concentrated. “No, they have not attempted to raid our shores in years, and even if they did, they would not be able to strike Kurifusaido. There are no truly safe landing points along our entire coastline save for the port at Kaiyo Kabe, and the village is little more than a waypoint regardless…”  
  
Jophiel blinked, furrowing his brow as he shifted his feet somewhat. It almost sounded like the samurai was describing Norsemen - Vikings...  
  
Regardless of Jophiel’s musings, Kaze growled, releasing his chin and staring into the rising smoke plume again. “No, if anything, this would be the work of _Kao no nai_ , the Faceless.”  
  
At the utterance of those words, a shiver seemed to run down the spines of every Hoshidan present, including Rinkah. All the soldiers shared disconcerted, worried looks as they seemed to almost reflexively form a defensive circle as if expecting to be attacked out of the blue by something.  
  
Noticing the confused looks of Jophiel and Kamui, Rinkah piped up. “Monsters. The product of Nohrian black magic. They’re created by the Black Mages Garon is so keen to rely on, sent out with instructions to march to Hoshidan lands, and simply destroy all they come across.”  
  
“They are not like people,” Kaze added as he squinted into the distance as if trying to spot something in the plume of smoke. “Distance, weather, hunger, all mean nothing to them. They are golems of flesh with but one purpose, and will eventually cross whatever obstacles stand between them and their target.”  
  
Monsters. Actual, genuine monsters born of _black magic_. Jophiel didn’t know why he was so shocked, to hear that Nohr would make use of something so incredibly and blatantly evil-sounding… then he noticed the shocked and horrified expression on Kamui’s face right before she spoke up.  
  
“N-no! You’re mistaken, you must be!” the ravenette cried out, more forceful than she’d been since they’d crossed the border with Lilith. “Father would not create something like that, something that attacks villages just because… just because that’s what it finds! It’s something else, those raiders you described, it must be!”  
  
Rinkah muttered to herself in Japanese for a few moments before levelling a dry gaze at Kamui, the platinum blonde hair beneath the oni mask resting atop her head swaying slightly in the cold, salty breeze carried off the nearby northern ocean. “You actually that childish, or just delusional? You forget about how Garon tried to force you and your brother to _execute_ me and Kaze already or something?”  
  
At that, Kamui slunk back, her expression falling as she shrunk in on herself. Lilith stepped closer and put her hands around one of Kamui’s arms in a comforting motion.  
  
Jophiel didn’t pay the pair much mind, though, given that there were supposedly _monsters_ nearby.  
  
Rinkah scoffed, shaking her head as she turned to face Kaze. “So what do you think-” she began to ask, only to stop short as Kaze _tore_ what looked to be a primitive spyglass from one of the cylinders on his waist, caught off-guard by the sudden, incredible intensity in his posture and face as he focused it squarely on the pillar of smoke in the distance. “What is it?” she asked, stepping towards his before whipping her expression towards the plume in turn. “What do you see?”  
  
“Sora,” Kaze breathed, his shoulders tensing incredibly. As Jophiel only just caught a small, white figure heavily contrasting against the smoke, drifting across it and all but impossible to make out at his distance.  
  
“Sora-” Rinkah repeated before rounding back on him with wide, panicked eyes. “Wait, Sora, as in Princess Hinoka’s Skystrider!?”  
  
“ _Without a rider,_ ” Kaze added as he shoved the spyglass back into its container, eyes locked forward and expression grim.  
  
"What in the actual fuck is she doing _here_!?" The explosion of words that came out of Rinkah’s mouth might have been mortifying, but Jophiel did not speak Japanese, and so understood not a word of the string of venomous and frenzied sounds before she turned to the soldiers standing at the ready and hollered at them all in a commanding tone. Each and every one lost any trace of hesitation the moment the words _Hinoka-sama_ left her mouth.  
  
In an instant, the men charged past Jophiel, Kamui, and Lilith, barrelled past Rinkah and hauled ass to crest the hill which broke their line of sight to the cliffside village.  
  
“Give the girl her sword, Kaze!” Rinkah commanded the Orochi as she turned on her heel and started sprinting to catch up with the soldiers. “And drop any horseshit _now_! The princess’s life is in danger, we need every blade we can get!” Each step she took was backed with incredible power, and Rinkah quickly overtook the squad, leaving everyone in the dust.  
  
Kaze turned to the three, his expression equal parts critical and uncertain. “Will you help defend the village and our princess?” he asked.  
  
Jophiel was still reeling from the sudden influx of information and gravity of the situation, attempting to clear his head with a shake before-  
  
“Yes,” Kamui declared, stepping forth and pulling her arm free from Lilith’s grasp, holding out her hand expectantly to Kaze. “We will not stand by while innocents are harmed.” She spoke with conviction, her back straight, expression steely and lacking the barest hint of fear or hesitation. It was… startling, given how she’d been behaving lately.  
  
Nodding his head, Kaze withdrew Venomous Gaze and set it in the ravenette’s hand. “I only ask that you both swear to not risk your own lives - you do not understand the importance of your safety, though you will shortly.” He moved to follow Rinkah and the men, then halted once he noticed Jophiel just standing there… without a weapon, and Lilith, a _maid_. “Such villages are always provided with a number of naginata - simple cutting spears for peasants to use in case of an emergency - keep your eye out for any you might be able to use yourself…” he turned to the little gradient-haired lady. “And you-”  
  
Lilith held out her hand, and with a small flourish, a burst of neon blue light startled the other three, a bright, undulating aurora flowed around her arm and convalesced atop her hand to form a ball of what could only be described as pure magic. “I will be no burden,” the fantastical girl declared, her golden eyes almost seeming to glow from the radiance of her here-to-fore unannounced magic focused atop her outstretched palm.  
  
Kaze’s eyes had gone as wide as plates, but he quickly recovered and nodded. “Then we must hurry - every minute wasted is a minute the Faceless spend ravaging the land and our people.” At that, he finally turned and sped off with a purpose, the wind at his back seeming to only carry him all the faster.  
  
Jophiel and Kamui looked at Lilith, mouths agape.  
  
She just smiled widely at the pair. “It didn’t seem relevant before,” was her explanation before the magic around her arm dissipated, she clapped her hands and took off after Kaze with intent, running with just about the girliest run Jophel ever did see.  
  
Jophiel and Kamui shared a look. Up until this point, Jophiel repeatedly had the expectation of fighting in the name of an evil, sadistic emperor placed on his shoulders. Part of him figured that he was simply put off by the idea of fighting, period, but...  
  
Monsters attacking an innocent village? Something clicked in his head, and instantly, a part of him declared 'how is that so different from a bear raiding people's homes, wolves stalking the streets of a small northern village?' Back then, back home, there was little hesitation when he had access to a gun and the notion of protecting people to give him drive. While he might have been without a proper weapon right now, he distinctly recalled the lesson of his incredible strength Gunter had instilled into his head.  
  
“Worse comes to worst, I’ll pick up a rock,” Jophiel asserted to the black-haired girl as he clenched his fists, made a few jabbing motions and set off with a thunderous cacophony of metal plates slamming into each other with each step as well. There was no moral ambiguity here. Monsters to kill, villagers to protect, and princesses to save - simple and _good_. He could work with that.  
  
“T-that,” Kamui sputtered, hesitating before bounding off into a sprint in turn, her voice strained with naked horror, her single side-tail billowing behind her majestically. “Was that supposed to make me feel better you big, reckless dummy!?”


	15. The Defiled Dead

Cresting the hill, the small cliff-side village came into view from their western approach, and a jolt of shock and anger lanced throughout Jophiel’s chest. Consistently, it was one thing to _hear_ of horrors, but to actually _see_ those same horrors in action was another thing entirely.  
  
It couldn’t have been a village of more than one hundred, yet the sheer amount of black smoke rising from the burning huts was considerable. Even from this distance, small human figures could be made out darting to-and-fro, the sounds of battle now audible with distance closed. There were no defensive walls to speak of, anything could have strode into the settlement from any direction but the cliffside northern edges. And they had.  
  
A woman wearing simple, unadorned clothing befitting a peasant barrelled out from between the buildings, screaming at the top of her lungs and running in a blind panic, completely failing to notice Kaze and Rinkah’s men approaching, calling out to her.  
  
A great chunk of stone the size of a man’s head was flung from the direction she’d come, flying like a cannonball. The impact with the back of her head was gruesome and visceral; she was dead before she hit the ground.  
  
The soldiers stumbled and hesitated for but a moment - when Rinkah blew past them, snarling and moving for the source of the projectile, they followed as intently as before. Kaze was hot on their heels, not an instant’s hesitation as he sprinted as quickly as he could.  
  
Lilith had been startled by the display as well, stopping and gaping at the sight… Jophiel charged past her. Fury swelling in his chest. The sounds of chaos, terror, and great inhuman roars began filling the air, the stench of smoke and burning wood nearly, but not quite overpowering the stomach-roiling smell of death which accompanied it. He should have been more cautious, but seeing that woman murdered so mercilessly flipped a switch in his mind, and he was singularly focused on destroying whatever was the source of this terror.  
  
Turning the corner leading towards the village center, Jophiel was met with the sight of Kaze’s men forming a shield wall, clashing with hostile forces he couldn’t identify through the combination of the smoke and the din of screams and battle. Immediately, that put to pasture the theory of it being ‘monsters,’ as it was already clearly a formation battle.  
  
In the dusty road leading to the two clashing force’s direction were a number of corpses, almost entirely commoners with distinctly Asian features… Hoshidans, all who had been cut down while fleeing from something. Distinctly, he had made note of the fact that there were no bodies beyond the settlement’s borders save for the woman that had just been killed with a thrown stone, meaning nobody had the chance to actually escape yet…  
  
That begged many questions and suggested the village had been caught hopelessly off-guard, but now wasn’t the time to dwell on such matters. Kaze and Rinkah were nowhere in sight, and Jophiel didn’t actually know how to fight in formation. With a quick scan of the ground peppered with bodies, he spotted a weapon. A polearm with a long wooden shaft topped with a blade - a naginata, a simplistic cutting spear. The fully armoured young man quickly scooped it up and gave it a quick overview. The cutting blade on the tip was made of bronze, and heavily worn… it was no halberd, but it’d do.  
  
Not thinking to wait for Kamui or Lilith to catch up, Jophiel charged down a narrow alley towards the sound of more screams, leading him away from the samurai and the hostiles they were engaging. Gunter’s lesson rang true in his mind, and the fact that he was encased in fully enclosed plate only emboldened him further - he was strong, and his armour impregnable. To stand back and… what? Hide? That would be inexcusable. He was strong, he could fight. Therefore, it was his obligation to protect those who could not protect themselves. So he would.  
  
Emerging from the alley, Jophiel was greeted by the sight of two of the unidentified aggressors in crude barbaric armour consisting of ruined leather and bones advancing on an elderly bearded man protectively clinging to a child, desperately attempting to scramble away from the two figures on his back.  
  
They were turned away from Jophiel. He saw no reason to afford an honourable death to civilian-murdering cowards.  
  
The massive armoured man lowered his naginata and charged, effortlessly skewering the first attacker, lifting them off the ground and throwing them into the second, the pair tumbling off as their rag-tag equipment tore and made an awful rattling sound, tumbling off and into the wall of a burning hut.  
  
Not dwelling on the sheer effortlessness of the action, Jophiel turned to hear the elderly figure utter _“Lawbringer…?”_ in a heavy accent… though not the one the pale-skinned brunet would have expected. The man, though dressed in the simplistic, common Medieval Japanese style as the bodies he’d encountered, looked rather decidedly _Norse_.  
  
There was no time to dwell on that, though. “Go!” Jophiel cut him off, pointing back the way he’d come, focusing on getting people out of the town took priority over everything else. “Go-!”  
  
 _“Afturganga!”_ The figure declared, pointing at the bodies of the men Jophiel had knocked aside, the sound of heavy, dry breathing and a low, guttural heave coming from the same direction.  
  
Not recognizing the _decidedly_ Nordic-sounding word, Jophiel turned, rounding his polearm on the figures again, and only then, did he realize that where red blood should have stained the blade, there was instead black, putrid bile that almost seemed to _sizzle_ like water droplets on a hot stovetop.  
  
Beyond the tip of his weapon, two grey-skinned figures rose in terrible, inhuman lurching motions - the same black liquid slathering the blade of the naginata practically frothing from their mouths as they rose to their gnarled, fetid feet. What little material covered them was shredded and rotting off of their shoulders, the odd bronze plate or severely rusted iron frame of what had surely once been leather or wooden armour hanging loosely from their figures. Heavily corroded hand axes were clung to with hands so bereft of musculature that they were practically skeletal.  
  
Open sores, split flesh, skeletal structure exposed to the open air - but most striking of all was their eyes, sockets which might’ve been empty but now burned with an unnatural blue light which seemed to fixate squarely on Jophiel.  
  
It was at that moment that he understood what the Nordic man had said: Draugr, undead warriors from Norse myth, risen from their eternal slumber with a vengeful purpose.  
  
Jophiel had halted at the sight of honest-to-god _undead_ garbed in long-since ruined Viking equipment rising before him, readying their weapons and gnashing their bare teeth at him, faces locked into an eternal snarl by their withered lips having long since receded into their pallid, rotten flesh.  
  
When one jerked forwards, readying its axe as if to strike at Jophiel, he reflexively jabbed the single-edged spear in his hands forward to pin it to the wall behind it, his mind screaming at him to keep the abomination away… which quickly led to the second approaching entirely unimpeded.  
  
All higher brain functions were suspended, the ruthless reptilian brain taking over as it recognized that this was a threat unlike anything Jophiel had faced before: so with no second-guessing, no worrying or hesitant self-doubt, he released the shaft of the naginata, stepped aside, and met the charging undead with a full-on metal-reinforced haymaker - a punch thrown with the entire body - right to its face.  
  
An unfathomably sickening crunch sounded out as the monster’s entire profile caved in and snapped back hard enough to audibly break its spine from the sheer force of the impact, launching it right back into the wall it had pushed itself from, crumbling into an unmoving heap as its eyes rapidly dimmed and lost their otherworldly glow.  
  
No time was granted to process the action, as with a deceptively powerful swing of its hand axe, the pinned walking dead clove the shaft off the head of the naginata and staggered forward with a sickening squelch, the blade of the polearm still stuck in the wall as it dragged itself off of it to move at the now wholly disarmed Jophiel.  
  
Throwing another, far more panicked and less braced fist, Jophiel only managed to clip the creature’s face and took the axe blade to his shoulder - a strike which would have seriously hurt him had his Dignified Veneer not entirely absorbed the blow.  
  
Rearing back, Jophiel headbutted the draugr with as much force as he could manage, which produced a revolting crunch before he drew back and uppercut the foul corpse. Teeth shattered as the monster’s jaw was slammed shut with incredible force, producing a number of light tinks as the bony shards impacted against and bounced off of his helmet’s faceplate.  
  
As it hit the wall again, it crumpled uselessly as a streak of sickening black ichor streamed from its crushed face, eyes growing as dark as its brethren. The headbutt alone had been enough to kill it, apparently.  
  
Jophiel stepped back, his hot breath rebounding off of his visor and hitting his face, sweat rapidly forming on his brow as the adrenaline rush peaked in the midst of him beating two undead Viking abominations with his hands. “Fucking Hell…” he gasped as he stumbled back, somehow managing to stay on his feet even as he stared bug-eyed at the things that’d lunged at him. Was this what Kaze's men were fighting? An entire _formation_ of armed walking corpses?  
  
“A display worthy of a hero…” a voice uttered from the side in clear Latin - the elderly red-headed Norse man in traditional Japanese- or rather, Hoshidan clothing, rising to his feet with the aid of a richly decorated staff, engraved with Nordic knotwork, leather wrapping, and a metal cap on the end of the shaft. He was still holding a child who, upon closer inspection, looked to be of mixed Nordic and Asian blood. The child looked equal parts horrified and in awe, eyes wide and fixated on Jophiel. “Lawbringer, I thank you from the deepest depths of my heart for saving this broken old warrior’s life, but more importantly, the life of my grandson.”  
  
“ _Oji-san,_ ” the child whined, clinging to the elder’s chest.  
  
The Norse man hushed his grandson, fixing his gaze to Jophiel again. “The path behind you is clear, yes?”  
  
It took a moment, but Jophiel nodded and pointed back down the alley. “A line of samurai soldiers is holding a wave of… _them_ ,” he motioned towards the now dead draugr, “back towards the village center, but yes, there’s a clear road out of the village. Go, now, before more come!”  
  
The Norse man nodded, but hesitated, looking to the broken naginata embedded in the wall, then to Jophiel’s empty hands. “Where is your halberd, Lawbringer?”  
  
Again, Jophiel blinked and shrugged. “In the Bottomless Canyon.”  
  
Nodding once, the Norse man bent down with some effort, gripped his walking stick near the bottom of the shaft… and upon returning to his full height, revealed that he’d been leaning on a pole axe held upside-down. He held it out, the blunt hammerhead side of the axe pointed towards Jophiel. “Once, I wielded this weapon like an extension of my own body, felling Knights, Samurai, and even my fellow Vikings by the dozens. Now…” he glanced aside at the dead abominations before them. “I cannot even best two mere _afturganga_ with the aid of my beloved Olierus… a Dane axe would be of far greater use to one of your order than a Hoshidan peasant’s spear.”  
  
Jophiel’s eyes widened at the suggestion, reaching out and gingerly brushing his fingers against the haft of the well-worn weapon- only to have it shoved into his arms with a bemused grunt.  
  
“Now’s not the time for reverence, boy,” the claimed Viking asserted. “Take this old axe, and put it to better use than I ever did when I thought strength just meant the weak were livestock for the strong to claim as their own.” With that, he started to walk off but halted just long enough at Jophiel’s side to add, “Your order… you do good work. I only wish I’d understood that when I was still able-bodied.” With a hearty chuckle, he clapped the armoured shoulder of the prince, bent down to pick up one of the hand axes dropped by the draugrs and started off again. “Perhaps with Thor’s blessing, my grandson may grow to be as half as strong as you and another Shugoki will see fit to protect these lands I now call home!”  
  
At that, the old Viking living amongst Hoshidans disappeared the way Jophiel had come, leaving his old war axe in the great armoured figure’s possession as he left.  
  
Jophiel examined the weapon, running his hand along the length of the engraved, leather-bound shaft, and nodded once. “Olierus, huh?” he glanced up at the dead monsters, to see them _dissolving_ into the air, almost boiling away in black noxious fumes like water atop a searing stove. With no more distractions, the sounds of screams of the living and roars of the dead filled his ears again, reminding him of his purpose. Now wasn’t the time for distractions. “We’ll make introductions later, there’s work to do.”  
  
With that, Jophiel grasped the five-foot-long wooden shaft in both hands and bounded off deeper into the heart of the village.  
  
\---  
  
Having cut down several of the walking dead as he bull-rushed in, Jophiel broke into a clearing around a well, ash and embers swirling about the air as the sounds of pitched battle peaked, the corpses of humans and undead littering the packed dirt ground, the entire area awash in orange light cast by the burning buildings surrounding what looked to have once been a marketplace.  
  
A glint of steel and a frenzied roar cried out. Twisting to face the commotion, Jophiel was met by the sight of a lithe, fair-skinned and petite woman of no more than five-foot-four with vibrant crimson hair. She flowed like water around a humanoid beast which made her look like a child in comparison, held a naginata visibly made of the finest materials possible in her hands, striking out and drawing the blade across the giant’s grey flesh. At a glance, she wore bright red and stark white finery with tall boots and arms shielded by silvery materials. A white scarf flowing behind her majestically as she practically danced around the monster which attempted to strike out at her.  
  
Where she, despite the chaos around her, seemed almost impossibly fair, the creature she fought was anything but.  
  
Towering over the woman at no less than seven feet tall was a monster covered in deep, sloppy stitches crisscrossed all over its body while bolts seemed to be punched clean through others, all seemingly done in some twisted attempt to hold the thing together like some kind of horrendous experiment of Frankenstein’s. Atop its crown sat an obsidian black helmet with dozens of haphazardly cut holes in the face, presumably to grant it some measure of sight. Though it was visibly some horrific undead abomination just as the draugr had been, this nightmare was almost impossibly, comically, _grotesquely_ muscular - so much so that veins all across its body were popping near-cleanly out of its flesh.  
  
The screams and roars of the abomination were _distressingly_ human, a fact which gave Jophiel no small amount of pause.  
  
The woman stabbed the creature in its bloated stomach, a stream of the inky black ichor shooting out even as she retreated and readied herself to continue dodging and striking back. However, as she planted her feet, she caught sight of Jophiel standing there, her amber eyes widening at his appearance. “Lawbringer?” she observed in a scratchy voice.  
  
The monster took a swing at her, and her focus on Jophiel nearly caused her to take a hit she only side-stepped at the last possible second.  
  
Brow furrowing, she glanced back his way again and shouted with a bemused tone in heavily-accented Latin, “Help, jackass!”  
  
Jophiel shook his head clear of the momentary malaise that had overtaken him, narrowed his eyes, and readied Olierus, kicking off with a purpose and bounding forth to support the young woman’s fight. This… _thing_ was clearly on a whole nother level compared to the meagre draugr he’d just cut down moments earlier, but that didn’t matter. This abomination had killed people - was trying to kill this woman.  
  
Raising his Dane axe over his head as he charged, he would fell this foul beast.


	16. A Reunion

The grey-skinned giant didn’t notice Jophiel’s charge, and so with a mighty heave, caught the full force of Olierus’s bit. The great Dane axe dug clean through the putrid, smelling flesh of its thigh. The success quickly turned into a problem, as with a blow that had cloven entire draugr in two, the weapon dug into the giant's thighbone and was now stuck.  
  
The abomination spun in place with a roar, which wretched the axe from Jophiel’s hands. The black-helmeted monster flailed its arm at the princeling, and the world spun around him. He hit the ground, rolling with a heretofore unmatched harshness and slammed into a wall. Pain shortly followed, his left arm had taken the brunt of the hit.  
  
A cacophony of bellowing screams and scratchy shouting made itself known to him, and Jophiel realized he was staring at the blackened, sooty sky, laid out on his back. One blow from that thing had sent him soaring and stunned him, despite his armour - despite having a two-handed great axe driven into its thigh.  
  
Raising himself on an elbow with a pained hiss, he quickly scanned to take stock of the situation despite the incredible hurt focused on his arm. The slender Hoshidan woman was still dancing around the beast, grimacing, glancing Jophiel’s way only briefly before refocusing on avoiding the monster’s strikes.  
  
The axe was still stuck in its leg, and it seemed rather remarkably pissed off now.  
  
Moving to rise to his feet, Jophiel began coughing excessively, and only then did he realize that he couldn’t completely fill his lungs. The pain was fading, adrenaline doing its duty, but already he could tell that something was wrong: that one strike had done serious damage… but the sounds of distant screams, those of not only warriors and the dead, but of civilians reached his ears through the enclosed plates of Dignified Veneer.  
  
Fuck it. Healing magic was a thing - a few days in bed were a small price to pay to save lives.  
  
So, with great force of will and a snarl of exertion, Jophiel returned to his feet, steadied himself, and stood, watched, waited.  
  
The Naginata-wielding woman dodged in such a way as to turn the giant’s back to Jophiel, and that was when he charged. His legs pounding and metal plates of his armour clanging as he ran, hand reaching out just as the creature heard him and turned. He took a hold of Olierus and used sheer forward momentum to tear the axe from its leg.  
  
The earth shook behind him, nearly tripping the man, though he kept moving until he felt safe to stop and turn around, great axe at the ready again. The giant was howling, having fallen to a knee as a torrent of fetid black bile gushed from the open wound the axe had left. It was enraged, driving its massive fists into the dirt around it with little rhyme or reason, though each impact visibly packed the earth where it struck, damn near producing a miniature crater every time.  
  
This thing could easily tear through wooden fortifications like paper with the sheer amount of force it was outputting with its strikes - nothing less than a stone wall could hope to slow it down.  
  
As Jophiel took stock of his surroundings and pointedly ignored the aggravated _off_ feeling in his torso and left arm, the little redheaded woman sidled up next to him with incredible grace, her cutting spear held at the ready in the seemingly undead monster’s direction all the while. “You hobbled it, good, that’ll give us some time to plan-”  
  
Her gaze snapped aside as Jophiel tried to take in a breath of air, obviously catching the extremely laboured sound the simple action produced. Though her delicate brow furrowed, she simply grimaced as she pressed on.  
  
“Listen, Lawbringer: Faceless trolls only wear armour on their heads for a reason - their flesh is hardened against metal, but there isn’t enough meat on the skull to reinforce it the same way. Pop off its hat, and a firm blow to the head will take it down just the same as any human, got it?”  
  
Jophiel nodded once, not trusting his ability to speak, least of all because of the building taste of iron in his mouth which surely only indicated good things.  
  
“Alright,” the redhead nodded, keeping her gaze on the still-raging creature appropriately called a troll, her breathing even and controlled despite the visible tension in her body. “I’ll harass it until it forgets about you again - when that happens, aim for its knees - with that Viking weapon you might even take its leg clean off if you hit it right. Rip the helmet off with your bare hands if you have to, just destroy the head and the body will die too-”  
  
Shakily and with a still disturbingly human snarl, the masked troll punched the ground again, producing a quake one last time before it raised itself to its bare, filthy feet, half its leg stained black from its corrupted blood seeping from the gaping wound. It was focused on the pair through the many haphazardly-punched eyeholes of its blackened helmet, huffing and growling deeply.  
  
“-Just step back and wait for an opening!” The young lady cried as she bolted off to the side, charging to _just_ beyond arm’s reach of the troll and flicking her polearm across its outstretched palm. The small action seemed to anger it further, and it focused on her again.  
  
Jophiel felt his mind gradually clouding, his eyes unfocusing ever-so-slightly. The metallic taste in his mouth grew in intensity, and his breath continued to come in irregular warbles. Even so, the way she moved was almost hypnotic - swaying and weaving about with the grace of a master dancer, he was increasingly certain that were it not for the aforementioned resilience of the troll’s flesh, she’d have killed it a dozen times over already - a fact reinforced by the many shallow cuts and stabs dotting its body.  
  
Her blade sung and lashed out with pinpoint precision, striking the beast with cruel intent, seeming to deliberately sting and anger. She could not kill it herself, and she knew it.  
  
It could not have taken her more than fifteen seconds to enrage it to the point of forgetting about him again, but those fifteen seconds felt like an eternity. Regardless, when its back was turned again, he did as instructed and charged - ignored the sensation of his body screaming at the action in protest, focused entirely on the task at hand. The knee, the helmet, the head. Three motions, carry through from one to the other, simple as that.  
  
Rearing the axe back, Jophiel swung hard, aiming to sever the leg outright. With a sickening snap and meaty squelch, the troll only just caught itself as it tumbled onto a bloody stump, roaring in agony. He let the momentum of the weapon carry itself into an upward swing at the beast’s chin, catching the lip of the troll's helm. With a mighty pull, the leather straps securing the metal headpiece snapped, and it was sent soaring.  
  
Readying himself, Jophiel turned to draw the weapon back again - and froze in place as he laid eyes upon the visage of the ‘Faceless’ abomination before him.  
  
Its lips were drawn back in a permanent unnatural scowl, displaying teeth rotten and yellowed with age, anchored in place by gums which seemed to consist of more open sores overflowing with bile and pus than anything. A nasal cavity exposed to the environment, peeling reddened flesh visibly quivering within where a nose should have been. Skin crudely stitched together with sinew, a jigsaw of pallid colourless tones mixed with the ever-present tells of decomposition and decay, entirely bereft of eyelids, the creature’s oculars were impossible to hide or miss.  
  
Where Jophiel had expected to see some variation of solid white or black, some telltale sign of this monster’s fel origins, instead, he met the petrifying gaze of a man’s common blue eyes. Bloodshot, dried out, pupils constricted to an unnatural degree, leaking a blackened stream of tears which had long since stained his cheeks with dark bands, but unquestionably the stare of a _human being_ in the throes of indescribable, uncomprehending torment, confusion, and horror met his.  
  
Jophiel froze, weapon mid-swing, the sight shattering whatever resolve he’d held onto in an instant-  
  
A roar of wrath, terror, and anguish erupted from the creature’s maw. It blindly swung its arms out at Jophiel, knocking the axe from his hands as it lashed out to grasp at him. Reflexively, the Nohrian prince clapped his hands as hard as he could against its ears, a self-defence technique meant to disorient an attacker. The haunting visage of the ‘troll’ was gone, its head crushed and popped like a melon by the motion, an eruption of putrid ichor splattering Jophiel’s entire front side.  
  
Hands already drawn apart, numbed by the sheer force of the impact and running with corpse bile, Jophiel stared past the ocular slits of his helmet, not quite managing to process what had just happened as the monster’s body fell backwards with a loud ‘thump,’ all the liquid and bits of gore that had been produced from its body starting to bubble and sizzle into a black vapour which evaporated into the air around it - including that which had gotten all over the armour-plated young man.  
  
Quickly enough, Jophiel was effectively clean again, no heat or burns produced by the rapid vaporization of the Faceless’ flesh. The body was already fading away, though nowhere near as quickly as the loose bits of flesh and carnage which had spewed around it.  
  
Silence fell for a moment, the distant screams of civilians now gone entirely, the sounds of battle in the distance fading.  
  
“ _Hikariryu no jihi wo tamawarimasu youni…_ ” The redheaded woman muttered to herself as she tore her gaze away from the display in front of her, snapping her eyes around to search for any other dangers, perking her face up to listen for something. “The sounds of battle are waning. So it’s true - hordes of Faceless will actually dissipate upon having their ‘leader’ destroyed.” She wiped her forehead, a thin sheen of sweat now visible on her dirtied skin as she leaned heavily on her weapon for support, catching her breath as she looked over Jophiel critically. “Only ever heard of Shugoki being able to crush a man’s head like that… you’re something else, aren’t you, Lawbringer? Oh, and I’m Hinoka, by the way.”  
  
The shock of the swift, explosive death of the ‘troll’ had left him, and Jophiel was starting to feel how well and truly _fucked up_ he was again. Needless to say, he rather promptly fell to his knees with a cry of distress, the building taste of iron spilling out of his mouth and seeping through the seams in his helmet as he almost faceplanted outright, blood pooling on the ground beneath him.  
  
It didn’t take long for him to realize that he had internal bleeding and likely made it significantly worse by moving as he had.  
  
“Ah- _kudaranai-!_ ” Hinoka was immediately at his side, naginata clattering on the ground where she’d dropped it, hands now planted on Jophiel’s shoulders. “Damn it, don’t you dare die now, not after you just saved this village! The world needs people like you! I-” she shook her head, glancing around at the still-burning village with a grimace as a rising din of human shouts could be heard near them. “Wait here, just wait here, you hear me!?” The strength left Jophiel’s arms, and he fell onto his side, pain and exhaustion spiking. “ _Shinuna-!_ M-my little sister is a healer, I’ll bring her back here, and you’ll be okay!” She rapidly rose to her feet, face locked in a distressed grimace at the sight of him losing strength on the ground before her, pointing harshly at him as she took a few steps back. “You just damn well don’t die before then you son of a bitch-!”  
  
In a startling outward burst of debris, a pile of burning rubble which had blocked off the main street broke open, revealing just enough room for a small number of people to push through relatively safely. Rinkah had blown through, her warclub hoisted over her shoulder, dozens of little cuts and bruises peppering her toned form, a snarl on her lips as she looked the part of a bloodthirsty oni searching for another fight.  
  
Kaze leapt in after her, low to the ground with his katana drawn and at the ready. Next came a small, pink-haired girl with a bob cut, adorned in the same stark white and red colours as the taller redhead Jophiel had fought alongside. She wore a cape and a short dress, a short sceptre holstered at her hip with a Japanese bow readied in her hands.  
  
“ _Sakura!_ ” Hinoka cried out, causing the little pinkette to jump with a squeal, dropping her bow and arrow as a result. “ _Lawbringer wa shinikakete iru, tasukete!_ ” The redhead jabbed a finger towards Jophiel, frantically motioning for the pink-haired girl that almost looked like a shrine maiden to approach.  
  
Even as the pinkette apparently dubbed Sakura’s eyes widened, both in shock and confusion at the sight of a foreign warrior, a figure clad in polished Greco-Roman iron armour clambered through the wreckage in a frantic display of panic, nearly knocking Sakura over as she lunged into the open town square. Gaze quickly falling upon Jophiel, Kamui tore her face-concealing helmet from her head, violently casting it aside and dropping Venomous Gaze as she fell into a dead sprint towards him with a horrified, high-pitched scream of “ _Corrin!_ ”  
  
Hinoka’s breath caught in her throat. Her pupils constricted and her body stiffened as she froze where she stood. That voice. That hair. That face… the girl sprinting towards the Lawbringer; she was younger, more youthful, her eyes crimson and her ears elongated into distinct points, but her face, her hair... she looked just like-  
  
“Ka...mui…” Jophiel managed before he fell limp, his vision fading alongside his consciousness.  
  
Kamui practically skidded to a halt on her knees as she ripped at the straps holding Jophiel’s helmet in place, furiously, desperately trying to wrench it off. To her mind, it took far too long for it to come loose, to tumble away as her elder brother’s long brunet locks splayed out, matted by his own blood which was steadily leaking from his mouth. His eyes were unfocused, breathing shallow, dimming by the second. Already, she could tell that he had lost consciousness. She stooped over, cradled his head in her lap and with pain and desperation, began to cry in a hushed whisper, “Corrin, Corrin, please, not here, don’t leave, don’t leave me here all alone, big brother, big brother…!”  
  
There was a single, solitary beat. Hinoka whipped about to face the shorter pink-haired girl again, screaming _“SAKURA!”_ this time with open, naked desperation, straining her voice excessively as her eyes practically bulged out of their sockets.  
  
Sakura had already begun to run, tears forming in her eyes as they locked on Jophiel’s face, muttering something low beneath her breath as she fell to her knees at his side in turn, the mutterings turning into a low, song-like chant as she motioned with the small, wand-like sceptre in long, smooth movements.  
  
A gentle light seemed to form, wafting over the prone, heavily armoured figure of Jophiel. A light Kamui recognized, the healing aura of medelaurgy, the same process Elise had used so many times to restore both of her siblings to health when they’d been hurt by some manner. The ravenette held her breath, still gently, desperately cradling her brother’s head, praying for the Dusk Dragon to once again be merciful and preserve his life.  
  
Moments passed in tense silence. Jophiel’s breathing evened out, the blood ceased pouring from his mouth, and he… stayed like that. Eyes closed, breathing rhythmically. He was unconscious, or asleep, but surely alive.  
  
“Thank you,” Kamui whispered, drawing him closer in, resting her forehead against his. “ _Thank you…_ ” She couldn’t lose him again. Never again. She’d already failed him once at the Bottomless Canyon - _never again_.  
  
The fires still burned around them, though with less intensity now, and nowhere near enough to put them in immediate danger. The light crackling of embers was all that could be heard for a long while, until hard-soled footsteps neared, the shifting of cloth followed, and Kamui felt a pair of calloused, yet still gentle hands cup her cheeks. Confused, she felt her face be lifted, turned to face the person seemingly demanding her attention.  
  
Hinoka stared into her eyes. Disbelieving of what she was seeing, what she’d heard, but her eyes were not lying to her. The resemblance was undeniable, unquestionable. The same silken black hair, the same soft, gentle face, even the same beauty mark at the corner of her lips. And the Lawbringer… though it was less apparent, less of a dead-ringer, there was no denying the resemblance.  
  
The girl, who looked just like their mother, bearing the name of her long-lost little sister. The man, who looked so much like her elder brother, bearing the name of her long-lost little brother… one of her hands fell free from Kamui's face, and settled instead on Jophiel's, with a gentleness that went beyond that of a concerned stranger.  
  
“ _Onee-san…?_ ” Sakura breathed, lips trembling, large auburn eyes locked on Kamui, unblinking, uncomprehending.  
  
Hinoka’s eyelids fluttered, moisture building up as a lump rapidly formed in her throat. The siblings they’d lost. The siblings that had been stolen from them. The siblings Nohr had _taken_ from them.  
  
Her younger sister, and her younger brother. Both here, now, of all places, held with her own two hands after so very long.  
  
“Kamui…!” Hinoka croaked out, choking back a sob even as her hands began to tremble, disbelief raging through her mind, an assuredness that it was just another dream, that she’d wake up to find that her precious little siblings were still held hostage by Nohr, that she’d still proved too incompetent to rescue them herself, even after so long. “Corrin…!”  
  
With a shuddering cry, she drew her little sister that looked so much like their mother into a desperate hug, holding onto her as if for dear life.  
  
Sakura remained just where she was. Staring. Not believing. This wasn’t happening. This couldn’t be happening. By what providence could this happen? It was impossible. It had to be.  
  
Kamui was wide-eyed, blinking, staring at the burning buildings in the distance over the redhead’s shoulder. Why was she clinging to her like this, as if they, complete strangers, were close? And, also...  
  
What was an "onee-san?"


End file.
